Blood Doesn't Make the Bond any Stronger
by Adeliade
Summary: Arthur is taken from Camelot to protect him from Nimueh and raised alongside Merlin in the peaceful village of Ealdor. But happy times cannot stay, secrets will be revealed, destinies discovered and the boys' lives will change forever.
1. Just a Quiet Village

**It has come to my attention that my other story is a very played-out and overused prompt (Morgana kidnaps Merlin etc.) so I've decided to start another one on the side. It's based on Jivin4Jesus's story Balinor's Sons.**

Balinor watched his sons sparring lazily from the fields he toiled in. The work left his back aching, arms burning and brow sweating but it was honest and kept food on his family's table. In the chill of the spring air the man could not help but think about how he came to settle in the small, peaceful village of Ealdor.

* * *

It had been nearly 16 years since Balinor had first set eyes upon the small farming village of Ealdor. At the time it was nothing more than a simple stop for the night, a brief respite in his tireless running from the shapeless evil that followed him. It was a dark night when the man, wild and weary, had burst into the home of the young maiden Hunith and asked for shelter from the cold, babe in his arms.

Of course the woman had taken pity on the man – how could she not? Balinor had obviously no idea how to care for the infant that he held so close. She took them in, at first just for the night but the kind woman could not let the pair go just like that. It was just shelter that he had sought and Balinor ended up with something he had never fathomed – love. By the time the babe was beginning to walk Balinor and Hunith had married, adopted the child, Arthur, as their own son and were expecting another within a month.

Life just seemed to take hold of itself from there. The child was born, hair black as a raven's wings, so much like his fathers. No words could describe how Balinor had felt the day his son, Merlin, was born. The angers of his past, all of his worries, betrayals, pains and wrongdoings had simply melted away as he slipped into the simple world of a farming village and the exciting journey of fatherhood.

Of course Balinor and Hunith had never told Arthur that he was not their true child, he believed that Merlin was his brother, Balinor his father and Hunith his mother. But what was so wrong about that? Every fiber of the man's being said that he was Arthur's father, regardless of blood.

He had watched the boy sit up on his own for the first time, been the one to let go of his tiny hands when he took his first steps, it was even Balinor who placed baby Merlin in Arthur's arms for the first time and told him to look out for his younger brother. The love that he felt for Arthur was equal to the love that he felt for his own son, and far greater than anything he had ever felt before.

There were many differences between the boys that had been difficult to explain over the years, like why Arthur had hair of golden blond when Merlin's was black as night. Balinor always just laughed off the question, telling the boys that it was to balance each other out. At first it seemed to satiate the boys' questions but as they grew, more arose.

Hunith was much better with answering the seemingly unanswerable than Balinor was. She explained to Arthur that her own mother had hair as golden as the sun, and that he must have gotten it from her. When the boy pressed as to why his mother's hair was dull brown and not golden Hunith just laughed, saying that it was the way things go sometimes.

As the years past, it was hard not to see the resemblance between Merlin and Balinor, which only frustrated Arthur more. And indeed, Merlin, at least in his face and sky-blue eyes, did look like a replica of the older man. However he was lanky and thin, resembling nothing of his father's muscular, strong build. No, when it came to many things Arthur was more like Balinor than Merlin was, especially when it came to fighting.

From a young age Balinor saw the need to train the boys to fight. With Arthur it had been no problem. He took to the sword like a fish to water and was a better hunter at the age of ten than most of the men in the village. But Merlin, he was special. He could not swing a sword properly to save his life yet could hold his own against his brother any day, though not with weapons.

It seemed that Merlin had inherited something more from Balinor than just his looks, yes, Merlin had magic, just like his father.

Wiping the sweat from his brow Balinor thought back to the first time Merlin had used magic. He was no more than a babe, crying out in the night when it happened – the boy's eyes had flashed a brilliant, swirling gold and an instant later a bucket sitting on a nearby table was launched across the room. Hunith had run screaming to Balinor, who in turn held the child in his arms and cried tears of pure joy. There is no greater gift than that of magic, though he would never admit it to Arthur, who possessed no such talents.

* * *

"Father!" Balinor was brought out of his dream-like state by the worried face of Arthur running towards him. Sensing that something was wrong, he dropped the wooden pole of the hoe that he had been leaning against and rushed to meet his oldest son.

"What happened?" The man's hands gripped Arthur's shoulders with concern as the boy tried to catch his breath.

"It's… It's Merlin!" Arthur managed to gasp out between frantic inhales. "He fell… We were fighting and he hit his head!"

Instantly Balinor was off, followed by Arthur as they ran to the spot where the boys had been sparring. It was a rocky outcropping near the bank of a small stream that ran through the dense forest surrounding the fields of Ealdor.

The man's heart nearly stopped when he spotted a mess of raven hair lying face down on the hard rocks. A red stream of blood was visible from under the messy locks, dripping onto the grey surface beneath him.

"Merlin!" Balinor put a steady hand on his son's shoulder and shook it in an effort to wake the boy. "Merlin can you hear me?"

The boy did not stir, causing panic to rise in the man's throat. He put his head to Merlin's back and listened intently as Arthur watched from afar.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Relief flooded into Balinor's mind when he heard the strong heartbeat of the unconscious boy. In a quick, practiced motion he scooped Merlin into his arms and started back for the village.

"Come, we must get him dry." He said referring to the dampened state of Merlin's clothing from the wet rocks that had caused his fall. The boy's head lolled around limply as he was carried, blood streaming from the lump beginning to form on his temple.

Arthur followed behind his father wordlessly, looking a good deal paler than normal and badly shaken by his brother's accident. Even through his concern for Merlin, Balinor couldn't help but chuckle at how very un-Arthur-like that was, for him to look afraid. Normally the boy was the spitting image of bravery and courage.

**It starts off sort of slow but there's a lot be explained so stay tuned!**


	2. Balinor's Truth

**A big thanks to all those who reviewed and for your kind words :) I'm really starting to get into this story and I hope to be able to publish a new chapter every day or so.**

When they finally got Merlin changed and settled into bed, aided by a sobbing Hunith, Balinor turned to Arthur and demanded an explanation.

"We were just sparring." The golden-haired boy stated simply with a shrug, regaining his normal sense of composure.

The room fell silent and Arthur began to squirm under the skeptical eye of his father.

"Well…" He finally admitted, shame crossing his face, "I might have… goaded him on a little."

Balinor sighed heavily. "What do you mean?" Arthur looked uncomfortable, unable to meet his father's grey-blue eyes with his own.

"I… might have… calledhimhurlgurl…" The last few words came out so close together that Balinor was unable to understand them.

"What? Arthur…" His voice turned suddenly stern. "Tell the truth… now."

"Fine… I said that I might have… told him that he fights like a girl and pushed him." Guilt built up behind the boy's fierce blue eyes. "But I didn't mean for him to fall or anything! I mean he always falls, but he always gets back up!"

Balinor studied his son's face for a long time after his outburst. It was clear that the boy regretted his actions but it did not change the fact that he had, unintentionally, put his brother's life in danger.

"I've told you to be careful Arthur… You _know_ that Merlin is not nearly as strong as you are." Balinor stated plainly, though not unsympathetically.

Arthur sucked in an annoyed breath. "You always take his side! It's not fair!" The boy stood up from the foot of Merlin's bed where he had been sitting. "It's not my fault that he's weak and I'm not!"

"Arthur I never said that it was your fault, all that I said was that you need to be more careful in the future!" Balinor stood up too. He was still a good deal taller than Arthur, though the boy had been growing like a weed lately.

"No! You don't even know what happened! He pushed me down first!" Arthur spat the next two words out like poison. "With magic!"

It was obvious that the boy was upset, Balinor had just mistaken it for concern earlier but now it seemed that it was deeper than that. Eyes brimming with tears, Arthur ducked past his father and ran out of their small house, slamming the wooden door behind him.

Balinor sighed and looked to Hunith, who had been watching the fight silently from the head of Merlin's bed. She shook her head sadly over what had just happened.

"Dear… you better go talk to him. I'll stay here with Merlin." Her voice was soft and full of understanding and helped to calm the rage building inside Balinor, it always did. The man instantly lost any anger he had felt towards his wayward son and replaced it instead with concern. She was right. It was time for a talk, whether Balinor liked it or not.

* * *

"Arthur." The boy jumped at the sound of his name, despite the understanding and calm tone that it was said in. He had hoped that his father wouldn't come after him when he retreated to his "secret" hiding place, the hay loft of their old barn. It was a sacred place for Arthur. The sweet smell of hay and straw and musty one of saddle leather always managed to calm the blond down.

There was a strained silence in which Arthur thought that his father would look for him elsewhere but the sudden creaking of the wooden ladder that led up to the loft soon told him differently. A moment later Balinor emerged into the small space and joined his son among the piles of straw.

"What's bothering you son?" Arthur hesitated. He loved his father, and Merlin, so there was really no forgiving his actions earlier.

"I'm sorry." Arthur breathed meekly, unable to think of a better thing to say.

A firm, yet gentle hand clasped his shoulder and Arthur looked up into the concerned eyes of his father. "For what? Pushing Merlin? I know Arthur, it was an _accident_. I'm sorry that I yelled at you earlier."

The blond looked down at his fingers which were meticulously tearing apart strands of straw.

"But… I can tell that's not all that's on your mind. So come on then, out with it." Arthur looked up sheepishly at Balinor, but was unable to meet his gaze.

"Why… why am I so… different?" He hesitated for a moment. "From you and… Merlin?"

Balinor's grip on his shoulder strengthened. "You're not, Arthur. Not different at all. Just because you have blond hair doesn't make you different."

"No that's not what I mean." Arthur continued unsteadily, "I mean why do you and Merlin have… magic and I don't?"

The comforting hand on his shoulder disappeared and Arthur looked up to see it running through his father's graying, long hair. The man sighed heavily and looked around the loft with sad eyes.

"You know I always loved the stables when I was growing up." Arthur was momentarily taken aback by his father's response. He had never heard him talk of his past before; it was always just one of those things that they never pressed for.

"The castle stables, specifically." Balinor took a deep breath before continuing. "Did you know that I grew up in Camelot?" The man looked up and chuckled softly at Arthur's shocked expression.

"No, I suppose that you didn't. I always thought that your mother would have let it slip one of these days but I guess I give her less credit than she deserves." His words suddenly grew sad. "I grew up with man, or I should say, a prince named Uther. Uther Pendragon, to be specific."

Arthur's mouth literally fell open at the mention of the current king of Camelot.

"I was nothing more than… well a servant really. Uther and I were around the same age and we spent most of our childhood together. We must have broken every rule in that castle when we were boys. That Uther loved to cause trouble!" The memory elicited a dry laugh from the man. "But then… then the king died and Uther was forced to take over. He didn't have a clue what he was doing when the wars came."

Balinor's face grew dark as he spoke. "So many died… It broke Uther apart. You see, he believed that the cause of all the death was magic. His knights and soldiers could do little against the sorcerers that they faced. After the war, Uther went on a rampage, killing those with magic before they had a chance to use it against his kingdom. Of course he never hurt me. I already swore my allegiance to his precious Camelot, already fought his wars for him."

"Uther's madness consumed him. He killed hundreds before he was satisfied. It seemed that he'd never stop his needless slaughter – that is until the sorceress Nimueh came forth and offered him an ultimatum. She was willing to give him the one thing that he wanted most yet could not have."

Arthur leaned forward, eyes wide. "What was that?"

"A son." Balinor stated simply. "Ygraine, his wife was barren. No matter much they hoped she could not give Uther the heir he wanted. So in order to stop the slaughter of her people, Nimueh told him that it was within her power to grant him a son."

"But how is that possible? Can someone really hold that much power?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

"She was a priestess of the old religion and had a true understanding of the old ways."

"You speak of her in the past tense… is she dead?" Arthur asked tentatively. His father spoke of the sorceress as though she was an old friend.

Balinor scratched his chin, feeling the stubble that had formed since the last time he shaved. "That's hard to say. I personally would like to believe yes, but my heart tells me otherwise. Anyway, Uther desperately wanted a son, more than you could imagine. So he took the deal and stopped his prosecution of magic. Nine months later, he had his son."

Something was bothering Arthur about his father's story but at first he couldn't put his finger on it. Then it finally came to mind why it sounded so wrong.

"But if he took the deal, why is there no prince of Camelot?"

"Uther was a fool!" Balinor spat the words out with such anger that Arthur was suddenly frightened of his father. "He knew nothing of the old religion and didn't realize the full extent of the bargain that he had agreed to."

"To give life, a life must be taken." The man rambled off almost subconsciously. "It's one of the first rules of magic. But Uther was blinded by his desire for an heir and when his son was born, Nimueh came to collect the life that Uther had unknowingly traded."

"She sought to take Ygraine's life in exchange for her child's on the night of his birth but Uther refused to let her take it. But it is not that simple, you cannot just deny the old religion what it is owed. So instead, Nimueh decided that she would take the life of the child. This enraged Uther and he vowed that she would never touch the queen or the prince so to protect his son's life, Uther sent him far away, somewhere that the sorceress would never find him."

Arthur couldn't believe his ears. It all sounded so foreign - Kings, queens, evil sorceresses. Then a strange thought crept into the boy's head.

"Father… why are you telling me all of this?" He asked apprehensively.

Balinor smiled sadly and continued on, ignoring the previous question. "Uther gave the child to the only man he could trust to get him far away. In turn, that man ran, he ran far from Camelot and the sorceress."

The gears in Arthur's head began to turn. But it was impossible. It couldn't be.

"He ran," Tears had started to form in the man's eyes as he spoke, "To a little village, where he met a woman."

No.

"And he raised the child, the prince of Camelot as his own. And he loved the boy just as much as his own son, maybe even more."

Stop. Stop talking.

"But the boy deserved to know." Balinor pressed on despite Arthur's look of horror. "Who he was, where he came from."

I don't want to hear this. Just stop.

"So I'm telling you now. It's you, Arthur. It was I who Uther entrusted to keep you safe, and I brought you here to Ealdor seeking shelter when I met Hunith."

"Stop." Arthur's voice was barely a whisper. "I don't want to hear this."

"You're the Prince of Camelot, son of Uther Pendragon." A single tear rolled down Balinor's weathered cheek.

There was a long silence between the two. Arthur felt angry tears start to sting his eyes but refused to let them fall, choosing instead to blink them back furiously.

After some time Balinor just quietly stood up and looked down longingly at his son.

"You may not be my child in blood, but remember this Arthur; you always have and always will be my son. Never forget that." With that his father disappeared down the rickety ladder. The golden-haired boy listened to his father's footsteps fade away below him before letting the tears begin to fall.

**Seeing a little bit of background now. It's still a bit slow but things must be explained, tears must be shed.**


	3. Merlin Can't Understand

**Hey so this is a bit of a longer one! I'm trying my best to give the characters the right personality despite the different environment and it's pretty tough but I'm liking how it's turning out :)**

Merlin's head swam sickeningly as he drifted in and out of consciousness. He remembered feeling his brother's strong hands on his back, the panic of falling, and a horrible pain. Then he was being carried, his head felt like it would explode with each up and down motion, though he was strangely unable to cry out. And then he was lying down on something soft with a gentle hand stroking his cheek as voices threatened to crack his skull wide open.

"Ow." The raven-haired youth stated plainly when at last his sky-blue eyes fluttered open and he found himself staring up at the very blurry image of his mother. "Mother? What happened?"

"No Merlin darling, don't move." Hunith cooed as Merlin tried to sit himself up, sending horrible pains shooting through his head. "You've taken a fall dear, just be still."

The memories started to piece together as Merlin processed what his mother was telling him. He eventually stopped struggling to sit up and tried to concentrate on clearing his vision of the strange blurriness that was distorting everything around him.

Gradually, the haze began to lift and things began to grow clearer and sharper. He stared into his mother's soft hazel eyes and a strange smile formed on his weary face.

"That… prat! He pushed me!" Merlin tried to sound angry but he knew that the smile on his face gave him away. Hunith tsked in disapproval but it was just an act and the boy could tell that it was all his mother could do to not start laughing.

"Now that's enough of that. Don't speak of your brother in such a way." The raven-haired boy reached up to massage his aching head and found a coarse bandage wrapped around his crown. He moaned softly at the pain that touching the wrappings caused.

Hunith looked down at Merlin with mild annoyance. "Now I told you not to move, you'll only make yourself feel worse." She stood up impatiently and made her way over to the chimney where Merlin noticed for the first time a large pot was bubbling away merrily.

His mother was a wonderful cook. Even with the slim resources available in the small village, mostly grain and a few sparse vegetables, everything that she made tasted delicious – even her porridge. But for some reason the smell of what Merlin guessed to be rabbit stew wafting through their small home made his stomach turn in disgust.

Rolling over slightly in an effort to relieve the discomfort in his belly but doing little more than aggravating his head wound Merlin moaned in distress. "Can you please take that outside?"

"What? But I thought that you loved my rabbit stew?" Hunith put a heavy iron lid on the cheerfully bubbling pot and crossed the room to sit by her son's side once more.

Merlin simply groaned, feeling bile rise in his throat. "Not right now! Can you please take _me_ outside?" He panted through his efforts to keep the contents of his stomach down, tightly shutting his eyes in a deep grimace.

There were suddenly gentle, soft hands on one of the young warlock's shoulders that pushed him smoothly onto his side. His mother slowly began to rub circles on the youth's back, humming quietly as she did so. Merlin thought back to the many times he had found himself in the exact same position, lying sick on his bed while his kind mother did her best to comfort him. He thought back to the winter that he had bet Arthur that he could stay outside in the snow without a tunic longer, a bet he lost, and for his efforts had come down with a nasty case of lung fever. With distaste the boy recalled sickness and the only reason that he survived was his mother's slow, methodical rubbing of his back that helped clear his lungs. He had lay upon the bed when he tried to climb a tree after Arthur as a child and fallen, resulting in a broken rib and a badly fractured wrist. He recalled every fever, every chill, and every sore throat that he had leaned on his mother to help him heal. It was apparent that this instance would be no different, despite the gap in age between the illnesses.

Despite his mother's best efforts, on this occasion Merlin's body wasn't going to cooperate and, before realizing what had happened, the youth found himself bolting to the door of their small house, hand covering his mouth and head feeling like it was going to split open. He had just managed to make it outside when the contents of his stomach heaved up and splashed onto the dirt and sparse grass directly outside the door. The act of vomiting caused the raven-haired boy's head to jerk violently, aggravating the already painful head wound and when Merlin tried to recover, white sparks danced along the sides of his vision. For a moment he wondered if the dots were caused by pain or if he was going to faint.

_Why do these things always happen to me_? The boy wondered when he finally decided which of the two options the white sparks belonged to. He was going to faint, directly into a pool of his own sick. Merlin braced himself for the inevitable embarrassing incident to come by screwing up his eyes and forming his mouth into a tight line. As he swayed forward the only thought that crossed his mind was a dim hope that none of his neighbors would be looking, but he knew that something as mundane as a boy hitting his head would spread around Ealdor like fire in a stable and all eyes would be turned to his house that night.

Swaying unsteadily, the boy tilted forward to suddenly find himself in a strong, protective grip. Confused and still blinded by the pain radiating from the gash on his temple Merlin opened his eyes to no more than slits of blue. He could recognize the rough fabric of his father's tunic before him. Thanking the man's perfect timing the youth allowed himself to fall into the warm grasp on unconsciousness.

…

Balinor sat quietly watching his wife from across the room. Even as she grew older the man found her unbelievably beautiful, worry lines and all. She was fussing over Merlin who lay motionless on the bed once more. She wiped the boy's lips with a damp rag carefully removing the last of the vomit still stuck to them.

He had received quite a shock when the raven-haired youth suddenly burst through the door and emptied the contents of his stomach onto the ground. But then again, head wounds are unpredictable, dangerous, even if they seemed like nothing to begin with. With a creased brow Balinor watched the face of his unconscious son, worry slowly starting to take over his earlier confidence that Merlin would be fine.

A deep, desperate fear suddenly overtook the man and he stood up with purpose, striding over to where his wife was tending to his son. The boy's face had an unnatural pallor about it that only worried Balinor more.

"Hunith hold him down." The man instructed to the startled woman next to Merlin. She narrowed her eyes in confusion but did as she was told, lips pursed into a thin, straight line.

Balinor put his hand, calloused from years toiling in the fields, gently on the small circle of red beginning to seep through the bandage around the youth's head and closed his eyes. He stood very still, breathing deeply and evenly, calling upon the magic stored deep in his chest. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and glowed intensely. Their usual grey-blue was replaced with a brilliant, swirling gold for a single second as words of the old religion echoed through the room in an almost inhuman voice, barely recognizable as Balinor's own.

The boy stirred under his father's touch as the magic transferred from Balinor's weathered hand to the pale forehead of his ailing son. It started as a simple twitch of his mouth, then his whole face scrunched in pain and he began to writhe about. Hunith did her best to hold Merlin down but the boy was strong despite his lithe, lanky looks. By the time the spell was over the woman was practically laying on her son's chest in an effort to keep him still.

Balinor took his hand away, feeling the magic slowly fading from his fingertips as the boy once again went limp and a slight rosiness returned to his pale cheeks. Hunith stood up and looked at her husband reproachfully; knowing full-well that magic was a dangerous and painful method of healing wounds.

"I had to, Hunith." Balinor whispered to his wife, shocked by the note of desperation in his own voice. "Head wounds are dangerous. I was worried that the boy was concussed."

The woman's face visibly paled. Last summer a farmer had been kicked by his horse and acquired what all thought to be a simple head wound, but then slipped into a deep sleep that none could wake him from and eventually died. At the time there had been mentions of a concussion being the cause of death. Hunith swayed and for a moment Balinor worried that she would faint. He rushed forward and took her in his strong arms.

He breathed in deeply, letting the scent of his wife's hair fill his nose. Lilacs. She would braid the tiny purple flowers into her brown hair every spring while the flowers were in bloom. Balinor spotted a tiny cluster of petals just above her left ear and reached up, running his fingers over the flowers softly. Hunith stared up at him, hazel eyes searching her husband's face critically.

"What is wrong my love?" She asked softly.

Balinor sighed and held her closer. The conversation with Arthur and healing Merlin had taken its toll on the man, who felt weary and sorrowful.

"I fear…" He started but paused, glancing over at the unconscious Merlin lying still on the bed. He looked a good deal healthier but still did not stir. Balinor lowered his voice and continued. "I fear that I may have lost a son tonight."

Hunith's brow pinched in confusion. "But you healed Merlin, darling. He'll be fine."

Balinor sighed again wearily. "Merlin will be fine, yes. But Arthur is a different story." The look of concern and bewilderment on his wife's face was growing as he spoke. "Hunith I told him the truth. About everything."

"Oh…" The woman said in a strangled tone before burying her face into Balinor's rough tunic. He could feel warm tears seep through the thin fabric and wet his chest. He tried to keep his own sadness under control, not for himself, but for Hunith. So many tears had been shed on what should have been an ordinary day that Balinor couldn't help but succumb to the sorrow he was feeling as he wept silently into his wife's hair.

…

There was nothing, just an endless, empty back void that Merlin found himself drifting through, spinning lazily. The wound on his temple throbbed slightly but much less than before.

_Am I dead?_ He thought to himself dramatically. _I swear to the gods I will haunt Arthur for his._

But he couldn't be dead. The dead don't think. The dead don't feel pain. And the dead certainly don't hear their parent's talking in the background. Merlin strained his ears to make sense of the jumbled voices now penetrating his subconscious.

"…told him?" Mother.

"Yes… didn't… well." Father?

Who were they talking about? Surely not Merlin, but then who? Arthur?

"…Balinor… Merlin means…" The boy concentrated harder at the sound of his own name and the saddened tones of his mother's voice.

"…know. But he deserved… know the truth." What truth?

"Should… tell Merlin? …Arthur knows… would be best…" It was no use. His father's voice was fading and Merlin could feel the darkness pressing in on him, numbing the pain in his head entirely. He sighed inwardly when he found that there was no fighting the inevitable loss of consciousness and willingly gave himself over to peaceful nothing.

When Merlin woke again he opened his eyes and found nothing but darkness above him. For a panicked moment the boy wondered if he had gone blind before a slight flickering movement caught his eye. He struggled to sit up and noticed that despite an overall ache and feeling of weariness, he was no longer in pain.

Reaching up the young warlock felt for the bandages that had been wrapped around his head and found that they had been taken off. He prodded his temple carefully but there was nothing but a small sore patch on his unbroken skin.

Frowning deeply, Merlin managed to push himself into an upright position and look about the room. The flickering had been coming from the remnants of a fire dancing slowly in the ashes of the fireplace. Other than the dying fire everything around him was still. The darkness that spilled in the windows of their small house told the boy that it was night, but he had no recollection of anything past mid-morning.

Then suddenly Merlin let out a strangled gag. His mouth tasted like he had eaten a pile of horse dung, or something equally as disgusting. The horrible taste brought back a blurry memory of vomiting.

_Well that explained a lot_, the boy thought as he tried not to retch again. Thinking that a drink of water would help his situation, Merlin planted both feet on the ground and forced himself up from the bed. He had half expected to fall down or faint again but was pleasantly surprised when he just a felt a little unbalanced.

Yet, there was something. A strange nagging sensation told Merlin that something was just not right, though he couldn't put his finger on just what it was. And it drove him crazy.

The boy searched his mind for what was bothering him but, unable to find any answers, turned a scrutinizing eye on the room before him. The fire was almost gone, which was not unusual for such a warm night- it had only been lit earlier to cook on. But that wasn't the problem, that wasn't strange. Merlin looked about the empty room once more and realized that the emptiness was the problem. He was alone. Where was Arthur?

His brother's bed was empty, rough blankets still smooth from when Arthur last made his bed the previous morning. Anxiety rose in Merlin's throat when he realized that his brother was simply not there.

Quest for water abandoned, Merlin set out in pursuit of his missing brother. It was warm for spring but there was still a pronounced chill in the air that caused the raven-haired boy's breath to puff out in front of him like tiny clouds. He looked around into the darkness, almost as if he was expecting to find Arthur standing in the road before him, but there was nothing but the rough wood of houses and inky blackness.

Cursing quietly (a bad habit picked up from his father) at the absence of light, Merlin held out his hand and faced his palm towards the sky. He breathed in, closed his eyes, and mumbled a few words under his breath. A dim blue glow appeared on his palm, starting off no brighter than a candle flame, but slowly grew to be brighter than any torch could ever hope to be.

Merlin didn't take long to locate his brother; though climbing the rickety ladder to the hayloft was difficult with only one free hand. The warm blue-light of magic lit up the dusty space and the figure sitting motionless amongst the bales of straw.

"Arthur?" Merlin called out to the blond who didn't stir at the sounds of his brother loudly approaching. The young warlock had never been good when it came to stealth, limbs too long and lanky to be coordinated enough for quiet movement.

"Arthur?" The raven-haired boy called out again. This time Arthur did stir, just enough to shoot a sad glance over his shoulder. Even in the blue light Merlin could tell that the older boy had been crying, eyes bloodshot and sorrowful.

"What do you want?" Merlin flinched at the harsh tones in his brother's voice.

"I came looking for you. I was worried." The young warlock moved around Arthur and sat down so that they were facing each other. His eyes flashed the brilliant gold once more and the ball of light quivered for a moment, then rose upward, coming to a halt just below the rough wooden rafters above. Merlin couldn't help but smile as the light bobbed up and down but stayed relatively still. The first time he attempted the same spell the barn had nearly burned down when the ball pushed against the thatched roof and refused to come back down.

"Hmph." Arthur snorted at his brother, turning his head away so that their gazes did not meet.

Merlin wondered if the older boy's sulking was caused by his own injury. "Did father reprimand you?" Slowly Arthur nodded, though still would not look at his younger brother.

"Well I'm better now, I think that father healed me, look- not even a scratch!" Merlin pointed to his temple and the smooth, unbroken skin on it. The absence of a wound didn't seem to do much in ways of cheering the blonde up, however. "Arthur what's going on?"

When the older boy finally spoke his voice was quiet. "Nothing."

"Something is the matter. I've never seen you sulk about such." Merlin pressed. He couldn't tell what was bothering his brother only that he wanted to do whatever he could to make it better. Despite the fact that Arthur was nearly two years Merlin's senior the younger boy felt a strange urge to keep his brother safe and happy.

There was a long pause and it seemed that whatever was on Arthur's mind would have to wait until another day. Merlin sat in the silence, sadness beginning to eat away at his heart as he watched the person that he felt closest to in the entire world wallow in his own thoughts.

"If…" Arthur began in a choked voice. "If I were… were to leave. And go far away. Would you hate me for it?

Merlin was taken aback at such a strange and serious question but his answer came out with surprising confidence. "Of course not. We're brothers and I love you. No amount of distance could ever change that."

His words seemed to ease the older boy's suffering some. A sad smile crossed his brother's weary face. "Spoken like a true idiot."

"At least I'm not a total prat. Oh, by the way- you are going to regret pushing me." Merlin joked easily, falling back into their usual playful banter.

"And what could you possibly hope to do to me _Mer_lin?" The blond boy raised a skeptical eyebrow, looking over his brother's skinny frame.

Merlin let a mischievous smile spread across his face. "Oh, don't worry about it. That's for _me_ to figure out."

"Dollop-head." Arthur threw back.

"That's my word!" The younger boy said indignantly, annoyed at his brother's constant use of _his_ insult.

"Merlin."

"Shut up?" Merlin guessed with a smile. His brother said nothing; instead he leapt on the younger boy and shoved a muscular arm under his scrawny neck. Roughly, Arthur began grinding his knuckles into his brother's mass of raven hair.

"Owowowow! Gettoff me you clotpole!" The pleas only made the older boy press harder as Merlin struggled against his tight grip with little success.

Even though the teasing hurt his still sore head, Merlin was glad that his brother had returned to normal. He had looked so… lost earlier and the younger boy hated it. There was still something though. Even when he managed to convince Arthur to return to their home there was a look of pain in the older boy's eyes.

Merlin knew one thing for sure- he was going to get to the bottom of his older brother's sadness if it was the last thing that he did because no one, _no one_ would make his brother suffer. Not now, not ever. It was the one thing ingrained into the young warlock's mind.

**Okay so in the next few chapters things really start getting going- I'm thinking that this is the last truly "boring" part for a while.**


	4. A Father's Wisdom and Wet Boots

**What's this!? Two chapters in one day? MADNESS! **

**Haha :) I just thought that it would be best to start off on the next passage tomorrow because it helps the timeline move along faster plus my internet was down last night so I wrote****_ a lot_**** of material.**

Merlin opened his eyes to the soft sunlight now streaming through the window next to his tiny bed. He glanced over at Arthur who was still sleeping soundly, though snoring so loud the younger boy wondered how he did not wake himself with all the noise. The young warlock thought back to the night before, the look of sorrow that his brother had worn and shivered despite the warm blanket pulled protectively around his slim body.

Just what had their father said to Arthur that could possibly make him look so downhearted and broken? Surely whatever it was it couldn't have just been about Merlin because he was fine, his wound had healed with no lasting damage, even the ache that he felt the previous night had faded, only hurting slightly when he pressed on it. But what then? The raven-haired youth probed the corners of his mind, trying to find something, anything, that could tell him why his brother had acted the way he did.

Then it came to him, at first it was a snippet, nothing more- perhaps just a delirious dream brought on by the head wound. No, it was more than that. It was too clear, too deeply implanted in his memory to be a simple hallucination.

A conversation between his mother and father floated into the younger boy's head but it was too choppy to give much information. The only thing that he could properly gather from the memory was that Balinor had told Arthur something, a truth. Something that had been drastic enough to send him into the spiraling sadness that Merlin had seen the previous night. But what could possibly be horrible enough to send his brother- the brother who was always strong and brave- into such a depression?

Merlin shook his head a little to try to clear this thoughts, which were becoming jumbled together as he tried, and failed, to remember more of the conversation.

Maybe he should just confront his father about what he had heard? No, Balinor would never tell. Whatever it was, he still wanted Merlin kept in the dark about it. If there was one thing that the black-haired man was good at, it was keeping secrets, the young warlock thought bitterly as he thought of how little he knew about his father and his past. And it didn't seem like Arthur was going to tell him much of anything either.

Feeling utterly lost and hopeless, Merlin pulled himself into a sitting position and licked his parched lips. The taste in his mouth from the previous night had, somehow, grown worse as he slept. The youth pushed the rough blanket to the side and swung his long, gangly legs over the side of his straw mattress, trying to make as little noise as possible as to not wake the still-sleeping Arthur.

The water bucket was empty when the youth tried to gather some in his clay cup. Sighing angrily, Merlin picked up the container and headed to refill it, a task that meant he would have to trudge down to the stream where he had fallen earlier. When the boy stepped outside he was almost blinded in the early-morning light.

Ealdor was a village of early-risers and, much to Merlin's annoyance, everybody seemed very curious about his condition. He was stopped on several occasions by "worried" neighbors asking him how he felt or what had happened.

"You're still alive then?" Merlin halted once more at the cold tones of a sandy-haired boy about his age.

He turned slowly, eyes filled with annoyance. "Sadly. I'd gladly have died if it meant that I didn't have to look at you again."

The two boys stared at each other for a long moment before Merlin felt a smile forcing its way across his face. He had tried to keep up a stern scowl but the utterly serious look on the other boy's face had caused him to burst out laughing.

"I was worried about you mate!" The sandy-haired boy dropped his charade and approached Merlin, clapping him on the back firmly. "You gave us all quite a scare!"

"I thought that nothing scares you, Will." Merlin pushed the other boy away playfully.

The sandy-haired boy, Will, pushed back with greater force, nearly knocking Merlin over.

"Oi watch it! Injured here!" The young warlock pointed to his temple where he assumed a bruise had formed. Will smiled knowingly, a playful gleam in his eye as he did so.

"Not as much as yesterday you're not. I'm going to take a guess that is Balinor's doing?" Merlin shrugged.

"I guess." He sighed. "I don't remember much of it really. Just fall- er, slipping, then waking up this morning feeling good as ever."

The boys had started walking towards the stream as they spoke. The sandy-haired boy had fallen silent.

"Arthur pushed you didn't he?" Will asked seriously. "Prat."

Merlin shrugged. He knew that Arthur hadn't meant to hurt him and had forgiven his brother for the resulting injury long ago. "He didn't mean to. It was an _accident_. Besides, I pushed him first." A mischievous grin split across the young warlock's narrow face.

Will didn't join in with a smile of his own. Merlin sighed. He knew that Will and his brother had never gotten along and how mad it made his friend when Arthur pulled something like this.

Thankfully, by the time the boy's arrived at the stream it seemed that Will had dropped the subject. Merlin bent down to fill the bucket and once it was replenished he cupped his hands and took a long draw of cool water. The refreshing liquid quickly worked to sort out the terrible taste that had plagued his mouth, leaving him feeling fresh and in a much better mood.

Behind the raven-haired youth Will sucked in an annoyed breath. Merlin turned with a raised eyebrow to see what had caused his friend to make such a noise when he saw a familiar rust-colored substance staining some of the rocks.

"Oh." Merlin stated plainly, realizing that he had come to the exact spot where he had fallen the day before. The blood didn't bother the young warlock as much at it seemed to Will, who had fallen silent and gone visibly pale as he shook slightly.

Without thinking, Merlin felt his eyes flash golden and the stream suddenly diverted from its normal course to flow directly over the blood-stained patch of rocks. Will jumped back with a startled yelp as water washed over his old boots, soaking them through.

When the water had washed the rocks clean, Merlin let his grip on the flow go and watched as the stream returned to normal. He smiled wryly at Will who was still staring at his ruined boots, surprise evident on his face.

"A little warning next time you clotpole!" The surprised boy managed to squeak out. His voice was a good deal higher than normal from shock and Merlin couldn't help but begin to laugh at his friend.

Will was one of the only people in Ealdor, besides Merlin's own father, who just seemed to accept his magic for what it was. Not only did he accept it, but he also encouraged the young warlock along the way. Merlin smiled as he remembered the time that he had tried to make the sparks from their campfire turn into a galloping horse but only succeeded in creating a ball of flames that nearly set Will on fire. Of course his father had been there to help, instantly dousing the sandy-haired boy with water to put out the flames that had started licking at his tunic.

Merlin had expected Will to be mad, to say that they were no longer friends, to do as the other boys in the village had and call him a freak but instead the boy had just laughed and demanded that the young warlock do it again, because he wanted to see the horses.

Yes, Will had been more than just a good friend over the years and Merlin considered him to be as much of a brother as he did Arthur, which was probably why the other boy's hatred of his brother bothered him so much.

"My boots are soaked!" Will said angrily, his voice returning to normal. Merlin briefly thought about trying to command the wind to dry his friend's sopping footwear but decided that it was not a good idea, considering the last time he did so Will had been carried off by a surprise tornado and thrown nearly thirty feet away.

The boy instead simply shrugged and lifted more water to his bowed head and splashing it over his messy raven hair. There was suddenly a loud sloshing sound and Merlin felt water, cold as ice drench his neck and back. Shocked, the young warlock froze in place as Will chortled loudly behind him.

Recovering from the chill of the water, Merlin smiled darkly and whispered a few words into the stream. The water suddenly stopped flowing, like it was stopped by an invisible dam that caused it to gather in a growing pool directly in front of where the young warlock was crouched down.

"Wait no. Merlin! What are you doing?" Will cried out with panic when he noticed that the stream had suddenly run dry. The raven-haired youth did not answer; instead he stood up slowly and surveyed his relatively dry friend.

Will's eyes suddenly widened when he saw the pool of water behind Merlin, growing ever larger by the second.

"You wouldn't." The sandy-haired boy's eyes narrowed in challenge.

"Oh, I would." Merlin said coldly and, in a quick motion, commanded the water to rise up and shoot towards Will.

The water jumped out of the stream, hovered in mid-air for a single moment before splashing down on the Will's head. The boy tried to stop some of the liquid from hitting him by holding up the bucket that he had splashed Merlin from earlier but the sheer amount of water hitting him quickly put that theory to bed.

Unfortunately, Merlin realized that he had miscalculated just how much water to throw at his friend when, much to his dismay, the splash left him completely soaked as well. The boys stood there as the stream returned to normal, dripping wet and both in a state of shock.

"Serves you right." An older voice approaching made Merlin and Will both jump as they looked up to see Balinor walking slowly in their direction. Though his voice was firm there was laughter twinkling in his grey-blue eyes.

"Are you alright, Will?" Balinor asked the sandy-haired boy when he finally reached the pair. Will nodded, apparently still too shocked to speak. "Why don't you go home and get dry? I'll deal with this one."

Merlin looked pleadingly at his friend, realizing the lecture that was about to come. Will just sent him a glare and set down the bucket he had tried to protect himself with. Merlin knew that the other boy would not be mad for long but it still pained him that he had looked at him in such a way. He hadn't meant to make Will angry. He was just having a little fun.

Wordlessly Merlin watched Will take his leave and cross the short distance from the stream back to the village where for the first time the young warlock realized angry eyes were watching him from.

Balinor eyed his son carefully. Merlin knew could see several emotions well up in their grey-blue stare. Anger, amusement, annoyance, worry, just to name a few, drifted across his father's face.

"That was _not_ a very nice thing to do Merlin." The raven-haired boy flinched at his father's tone. It was not anger, not hate, but something that made Merlin's heart ache with sorrow; disappointment.

"Father, I…" He started but stopped when the man raised a calloused hand to quiet him.

"Merlin I know that magic comes simply to you. I know that sometimes you cannot help how you use it. But using it for something like tormenting a friend is _unacceptable_. Do you understand?" Merlin could feel tears begin to well up in his eyes as his father spoke. He knew that he had done wrong; couldn't he see that he had already felt bad about what happened?

"Yes sir." The youth hoped that in his drenched state his father would not see the angry tears now pouring down his face. Whatever hopes he had of confronting the man about Arthur's state last night were dashed instantly.

"Will could have been seriously hurt! Do you even know the danger that you put him in just now?" Merlin felt his shoulders begin to shake and he struggled to control his breathing. It was just a prank. Nothing more. Couldn't his father see that he knew what he was doing?

"I had it under control." The boy protested weakly.

"That doesn't matter, Merlin. The point is that under control or not you cannot use magic on people like that! It's too dangerous!" Balinor's words softened slightly and he put a comforting hand on his weeping son's shoulder. His touch was firm yet understanding, but Merlin felt too ashamed to feel anything other than the disappointment in his father's voice.

He had expected to be struck by his father when the man moved in closer and was surprised when he suddenly found himself in the older man's strong embrace.

"Oh my boy." Balinor breathed into his son's raven hair. Merlin could feel his father shake slightly as something warm hit the top of his head. His father was crying.

Confused and still hurt, Merlin tried to break away from his father's embrace. He was soaking and knew that if he held the contact they would both be soon. But Balinor did not let go, he simply pulled the boy in tighter.

Despite being far too old to be held by another man, Merlin found his father's strong arms comforting and his familiar scent strangely cleansing. The boy slowly reached his own gangly arms around Balinor's back and clung to the rough fabric of his tunic, completely aware that a majority of the village would be watching the exchange by now and not caring one bit.

They held each other for a long time, both letting their sorrows go in the other's arms. When they finally pulled apart Merlin felt his cheeks turn red when he looked up and saw at least ten people gawking from afar, his brother among them. Balinor turned to where his son was looking to see what had made him turn redder than a ripe tomato.

"Hey! Quit your staring! Haven't you ever seen a father and son talking before?" He shouted in a gruff, tear-stained voice. The people jumped at his words and began milling about, obviously still looking their way.

Merlin laughed and sniffed. He wiped his face across a worn sleeve but the soaked fabric did little to help clear the tears, snot and remaining water from the stream.

"Come on; let's go get you cleaned up." Balinor chuckled at the state of the boy. Merlin guessed that he looked like a water-logged rat.

Grabbing the bucket, already filled with water to Merlin's surprise, the two began their short journey back to the village where the crowd had, thankfully, dispersed.

As they walked Merlin and Balinor said nothing. Any words that could have been shared had already been communicated in the emotion-filled embrace earlier. But one thing was obvious to the raven-haired boy- whatever his father had said or done to Arthur the previous night also involved Merlin, and whatever explanation he could have gotten from the man was now locked away tightly.

**By the way: I feel like I need to say that I don't own Merlin or anything and no copyright intended so there.**

**Also a HUGE thanks to all who reviewed :)**


	5. Winter's Too Cold

**Ha-hey! So begins a new saga for the boys- but what will it bring? This chapter is actually build-up for something I have planned MUCH later in the story so we're still on background but it's also quite long so, enjoy :)**

Winter in Ealdor was a harsh and unforgiving thing. Even when Yuletide came around there was little cause for celebration. The fall had brought in a large harvest but snows had come early, preventing the farmers from completely reaping their fields.

Merlin sat by a fire and watched the snow falling outside in the darkness. Their house had no glass in the windows, it was far too expensive and too much of a luxury for the poor farmers, so cold poured into the wooden dwelling freely. Some of the windows had been shuttered up but the early snow had prevented his father from finishing, leaving two gaping holes in their home.

Though the fire was crackling merrily and sending out waves of heat onto the boy's face Merlin couldn't help but pull the coarse blanket wrapped around his shoulder's closer, shivering slightly as he did so. Arthur stirred in his sleep behind the raven-haired boy and Merlin turned to see that his brother had pushed his blankets away and was trembling from the cold.

Sighing, Merlin's felt his eyes glow golden as the blankets piled themselves back on top of the blond boy's shivering body. Arthur turned slightly, but then fell back into a much warmer, more restful sleep. His and Merlin's beds had been moved closer to the fire but the younger boy chose to sleep on the rough dirt floor instead so that he could be as close to the flames as possible.

Merlin _hated_ winter. He hated the cold with every fiber of his being, so much so that when he was younger he would block the snow out with his magic- that is until his father found out and he received a long lecture on how "nature needs to take its course". But the dark-haired youth still found it hard to appreciate the season as he grew older, and began to understand the elements and ways of the natural world more and more.

It seemed as though everything just… died when winter came along. The forest, normally so full of life and noise, would grow still and sad at the touch of the first snow. Merlin always felt a pain in his chest when he would go for firewood and, instead of feeling the usual murmur of the wind through the trees, soft call of birds and rustle of bright green leaves above him, he'd feel nothing. It was like watching an old friend that he had known all of his life, die before him.

He knew that the life would return to the land once the winter was done and the last of the snow had disappeared from the dead ground but there was always an irrational fear that it would not come back, that it would stay still and silent and leave Merlin alone, stuck in a world of nothing but death and sorrow.

It pained Merlin that Arthur could never understand why he hated winter so much. To his brother, who possessed no magic, it was simply a season that would eventually pass and give way to spring once more. He could not hear the gentle sobs of the dying trees or feel the unnerving stillness of the earth beneath the white blanket of snow.

Balinor, on the other hand, seemed to understand his son's plight, though never seemed to understand why he was so affected by it. At one point the man had confessed to Merlin that, he too, felt the earth dying during the winter. This had made the boy, who was still young at the time, feel better. But over time, the season began to really get to him. Merlin would find himself staying inside more and more, just sitting by the fire and staring into the flames, thinking. He felt like an old man.

Sighing wearily, Merlin pulled the blanket even closer around him until the fabric was stretched uncomfortably across his narrow back. That was another reason that the young warlock hated winter. He was skinny, no matter how much he ate, and had no extra padding of any sort to keep him warm. He was _cold_. All. The. Time.

The fire danced lazily, orange and yellow flames consuming the logs that Merlin knew would need to be replaced soon.

He didn't want to get up. He was too cold to get up.

But the fire needed replenishing. And if he didn't put in more logs soon then it would be likely to go out or die down and make him a whole lot colder.

Sighing again, Merlin pushed himself up and walked over to the wooden door. Outside he could hear the winter wind howling like hungry wolves in the night. He braced himself for the shock he was about to receive and threw open the door. It was bloody _cold_.

Grabbing a few pieces of firewood from the stack just outside the door Merlin turned and reentered the house. It was still cold, but marginally better than outside. The door swung closed behind him magically, blocking out some of the wind that was still ripping through the house thanks to the open windows.

Merlin _hated _winter.

"Gods it's cold!" The sleepy voice of Arthur sounded from behind Merlin, who was throwing some of the logs onto the fire carefully, trying not to send up too many sparks.

There was a creaking noise that the raven-haired boy recognized as Arthur sitting up in his bed. "Merlin? What are you still doing awake?" His brother asked through a long yawn.

"Couldn't sleep. Too cold." Merlin responded bluntly as he sat back down in front of the fire, enjoying the warmth from the flames and wishing that he had another blanket.

There was another creaking noise and Merlin assumed that Arthur had gone back to sleep. Suddenly there was something draped over his shoulders. He looked down and saw the brown blanket fall over the tan one already wrapped around him. The younger boy mumbled thanks to his brother and pulled both blankets closer.

"Can't sleep then?" Arthur sat down next to his brother, wrapping his strong arms around his knees.

Merlin looked over at his brother, deciding not to comment on the unruliness of his blond hair given the friendly gesture Arthur just showed him.

"It's too cold. I hate winter." He sighed, grateful for the extra warmth the new blanket provided.

Arthur pursed his lips and stared intently into the fire for a moment. "Why, exactly? I get that it's cold and all but you always get so… sad during the winter."

"I guess…" Merlin sighed, trying to find the right words. "When I'm in the forest when it's spring or summer or fall, I can _feel_ everything. I can feel the magic in the trees and the leaves. I can hear the ancient language whispered through the brush and sense the spirits that keep everything going."

He looked over at Arthur, who was staring intently into the fire with a creased brow.

"But in the winter," Merlin continued, "I can't really feel anything. I mean I can feel… it just feels like death. All the life is just… gone. I can't stand it." He glanced over at Arthur, who wore a confused expression.

"You probably think I sound like a fool." The raven-haired boy chuckled somewhat bitterly. Even his own father couldn't understand how he felt- why should his brother who possessed no magic whatsoever?

There was a long pause, suggesting that Merlin's thoughts had been true.

"Is it nice?" Arthur asked suddenly, making the younger boy jump.

He stared at his brother for a moment, confused. "Is what nice?" Merlin asked, still not understanding.

"Having… you know… magic." The last word was barely more than a whisper. Merlin could see the same pain in his brother's startlingly blue eyes as he had when he found him in the hay loft the previous spring.

Merlin pursed his lips. "It's… Yes. I suppose so. But it's also really terrible at the same time."

"Huh. You'd imagine it'd be great." The blonde said bitterly. Merlin almost recoiled at the harsh tones of his brother's voice.

"It's like… Imagine having a fire burning inside of you." The young warlock looked intently into the fire. "It's comforting and safe; it can keep you warm even on the coldest of nights. But then, imagine that you can't control the fire entirely. Normally its fine, doing what it's supposed to do but sometimes it lashes out. Causes destruction. Hurts people." Merlin felt his brow furrow, surprised by the seriousness of his answer.

"And no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you struggle, you're going to lose control eventually and all that you can do is hope that it won't hurt those around you. It's like a sword with a mind of its own. Any you know how bad of a swordsman I am!" Merlin chuckled, trying to lighten the mood a little.

"Pointy end out." Arthur smiled back. Merlin recalled the last time his father had tried to school the young warlock in swordsmanship. The incident had ended in his brother shouting those three words over and over as Merlin sliced his hand open on a backwards blade.

"Yeah." Merlin agreed weakly, not able to keep up the banter. "Sometimes… sometimes it scares me Arthur. I mean really, really scares me." There was a strangled note in his voice.

"I keep thinking that I'll get it under control, I keep thinking that somehow, it'll all be okay. But it never gets better. It only gets worse. Everyone hates me for it and I… I just feel so lost." The young warlock pulled his knees closer so that he could rest his chin on them.

Arthur sighed, obviously sensing his brother's sorrow. "You're just saying that because its winter and you _hate_ the winter."

"You know I just realized something. Tomorrow is Yuletide Eve." The blonde said brightly in an effort to lighten the mood once more.

"Spiced cider." Merlin mumbled wistfully.

"Mother's special beef stew." Arthur added.

"Father's drunken singing!" Both boys laughed at the last comment, recalling the previous year's drunken antics of their father, who almost never lost his sobriety, and on the rare occasions that he did, became a complete fool.

Merlin suddenly found himself in a much better mood than before at the promise of the day to come.

"Thanks Arthur." The raven-haired boy smiled.

"For?" Arthur was returning to his normal gruffness, sensing that his brother was through the worst of his sorrow.

"For cheering me up. I know that you don't like to talk about your feelings an-"

"Don't be such a girl Merlin." The older boy said in a commanding voice.

"No I really mean it. Thanks you. For listening that is." Oh gods. He _was_ being a girl.

"_Mer_lin."

"Shut-up?" Merlin answered helpfully.

"Exactly. Now go to sleep." It was clear that the conversation was over, and, knowing Arthur, Merlin could guess that it was never to be repeated.

The young warlock let his head drift forward until his chin met with his chest. Just as Arthur's snores began to echo through his head Merlin felt the familiar warmth of sleep begin to grip him. He welcomed the blackness and the relief that it brought as he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

The next morning Merlin was woken by the smell of something delicious cooking over the fire close by. He was painfully aware that someone had moved him to his bed so that his mother could have full command of the fire. Even under the bundle of blankets, his _and_ Arthur's, that someone had placed over him Merlin was still bloody cold.

"Why is it so cold?!" The boy pulled a particularly rough blanket over his head in an effort to block out the chill.

"Because it's winter, darling. Now stop lazing about and go help your brother." The slightly harsh tones of his mother met the question asked by the boy at least once a day throughout the entire season.

Merlin frowned and peaked out from under his protecting shell of blankets. Cold instantly met his face, stinging his eyes. Nope. He definitely wasn't going out there.

"Doing what?" The sleepy youth asked with disinterest.

A loud chopping began to fill the house, making Merlin once more retreat under the blankets.

"Getting firewood." The chopping stopped. There was a brief moment when Merlin wondered if his mother had given up on getting him out of bed and would, like most days, let the boy stay under his fortress of blankets and furs.

All hope was abandoned when, much to Merlin's horror, the pile of warmth was yanked off in a single, smooth motion. An instant chill sent the boy trembling, trying to curl into himself to find some relief from the cold.

"You'll feel better once you get up and get moving." Hunith stated plainly, dumping the gathered blankets onto Arthur's vacant bed and going back to the table where she had been working earlier. Merlin sighed dramatically as he pushed himself up to see what his mother was making.

Bloodied chunks of raw meat were laid out on a thin covering of cheesecloth draped over the wooden table. Merlin felt his stomach turn in disgust at the pile of red flesh that would soon become the beef stew he loved so much.

"Come on then! Up and at 'em!" The brown-haired woman began chopping at the meat once again, working to slice it into bite-sized chunks.

Not wanting to watch the spectacle any longer, Merlin jumped up and grabbed the heavy cloak resting on his bedpost. It was old and tattered, having seen more than a few winters, but was warm and even had fur sewn into the collar for extra comfort.

Waving a hasty goodbye to his mother, Merlin stepped outside into the harsh brightness of the winter afternoon. The sun shone down on the white snow that covered the ground and that was piled high on thatched roofs. Everything seemed to be sparkling- and Merlin _hated_ it.

It took twice as long and three falls into the snow to reach the woods where Arthur was busy chopping wood. Merlin approached his brother, knees and chest soaked from his last dive into the white blanket that covered the land.

Arthur looked up as Merlin approached. The raven-haired boy could see that his brother was waiting for him to fall once more. Deciding that he would not give the blonde the satisfaction, Merlin concentrated hard on not losing his footing and was careful to judge how deep the snow was before he put his full weight onto it.

His efforts went unnoticed when a rabbit hole, buried deep beneath the snow, caused Merlin to go crashing to the ground.

"I _hate_ this bloody season!" Merlin cried in outrage as he tried to push himself up and silently cursing Arthur, who was laughing loudly at his brother's misfortune.

The blonde managed to stop laughing long enough to squeeze out "Merlin don't be such a girl!" before nearly collapsing from his inane giggles.

"Don't be such a prat." Merlin mumbled under his breath angrily. His foot was trapped in the unseen hole beneath him and the boy gasped at the twinge of pain that accompanied trying to pull it free.

"Ow!" The raven-haired boy spat into the snow with annoyance. Noticing that Arthur's laugher had died down at his cry of pain, Merlin looked up to find that his brother was standing before him.

The older boy knelt down quickly, his startlingly blue eyes searching Merlin's face for injury.

"What's wrong?" Arthur had become extremely protective in the past year, ever since Merlin had been injured by him.

"Ah- Just, just twisted my ankle." Merlin swallowed his pain and blinked back the tears that had started forming in his eyes. Carefully he managed to dislodge his foot from the hole, ankle throbbing as he did so. It was clearly sprained.

Merlin struggled to his feet and pushed his brother back when he attempted to help the young warlock walk. His ankle hurt, but it still supported his weight and he only walked with the slightest hint of a limp. He looked at the pile of wood that Arthur had chopped with wide eyes.

"How long have you been out here?!" He gasped. The pile came up nearly to Merlin's waist despite the haphazard way that the logs were thrown onto it.

Arthur just shrugged. "A few hours I think?"

Merlin wondered how anyone could stand being out in such blistering cold for so long and not succumb to hypothermia.

"Your toes must be frozen…" The young warlock eyed the pile apprehensively, wondering how many trips on his sore ankle they would have to take to haul all of the wood back. Of course he could use magic- but ever since he drenched Will and gotten reprimanded because of it Merlin was increasingly against using his gifts for anything more than what was necessary, at least when his father was likely to see.

Arthur began to gather the logs into his arms, stacking a pile so high that he had to hold it down with his chin to keep it balanced. Merlin took a significantly lesser amount, knowing full well that he was bound to fall at least once before making it back home. Even with their arms loaded, the pile, much to the young warlock's dismay, was still massive. He sighed, now realizing the number of trips that they would have to take.

The return trip was not nearly as bad as Merlin had initially assumed that it would be and he managed to make it back without falling, stack of wood intact. They deposited their loads and headed back out to collect another armful.

The second time around proved much worse than the first. After not falling on his way to the forest Merlin was lulled into a false sense of security that caused him to grab a heavy load of firewood, nearly as much as his brother had taken, that was sent flying into the snow only a few paces later.

"Augh!" The raven-haired boy screamed as he fell, yet again, only feet from their doorstep. Arthur rolled his eyes and threw his armful of wood down before beginning to collect the logs that Merlin had dropped.

"Maybe you should just go inside?" The blonde said with an exasperated sigh. Merlin agreed, though not because of the spilled firewood. His ankle was aching deeply now and pressing against the side of his boot painfully.

Gathering the rest of the fallen logs in his arms, Merlin breezed past his brother and stepped into the welcomed warmth of their tiny house. He rushed forward to deposit his armful of wood by the fire and nearly collided with his father in the process.

"Why are you limping?" The black-haired man asked with a slight sigh when Merlin finally dumped his bundle of sticks by the fire.

"I fell, twisted my ankle." Ankle injuries were a common occurrence for the gangly, awkward boy but Balinor's face still scrunched in concern at the mention of it.

"Show me." Merlin obeyed his father's command and sat on the edge of his bed, still soaked from his many tumbles into the snow and slid off his fur-lined boots.

The boy sat quietly as his father poked and prodded at his ankle, wincing now and again when the man's examination pulled on it painfully. When Balinor seemed satisfied that it was what Merlin had suspected, no more than a sprain, he let the boy set his foot down and looked at the state of his youngest son.

Merlin was completely covered in snow in some degree of melting and he could feel cold water dripping onto his face from his hair. He chuckled darkly at how wrong his mother had been earlier- moving had not made him any warmer. In fact, as the warmth of the house completely melted any snow still clinging to his clothing, he felt colder than he had earlier.

"You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death." Hunith's gentle voice called from the only other room in the house, his parent's bedroom. Merlin dragged himself upward, ignoring the pain in his ankle when he stood and followed his mother's voice. She was already laying out a new outfit for the boy from a large trunk at the foot of his parent's bed when he walked into the small room.

Hunith hummed a tune as she pulled garments out of the trunk. Most of them were too light for the harsh cold of winter but soon she found what she had been searching for. Merlin watched as she pulled out a slightly faded brown jacket and blue tunic. She tossed the clothes onto the dark-brown leggings already lying on the bed.

"There now, get changed and come warm yourself by the fire." Merlin did as he was told, not waiting for his mother to leave before starting to pull off his wet tunic. The woman had seen her son naked on more than a few occasions, what with his knack for injuring himself or falling ill and it no longer bothered the boy, though Arthur was absolutely mortified whenever she would insist on sticking around on bathing day.

His mother had gone by the time he managed to peel the damp leggings off, leaving his bare legs exposed and freezing. Merlin changed as quickly as possible to avoid having to stand naked in the freezing room but by the time he had completed the task he was shivering violently. Yes, Merlin _hated _winter.

Gathering the soaked clothes in his arms, careful not to touch them to the dry garments he wore, Merlin pulled the door open with his foot and limped towards the fire. He briefly thought of drying the clothes with magic but then reconsidered when he noticed his father watching him closely.

The damp cloak he had worn earlier was already drying by the fire when the raven-haired boy hung the other soiled garments up and sat down to the side of the cheery flames. A large, black pot was bubbling away, and beginning to smell wonderful.

"Let's have another look at that ankle then." Balinor approached his son and but Merlin waved him away.

"It's fine." He lied. It didn't feel fine. The earlier ache had been numbed slightly by the snow and it was now pulsating painfully but Merlin didn't feel like causing his father worry. Moreover, he knew that when Balinor said "another look" it meant that he was going to use healing magic. Merlin knew that his father was a great and powerful sorcerer but he was distinctively lacking when it came to healing and any treatment that he offered was most likely going to be painful. "Doesn't even hurt anymore, see?"

Merlin rolled his bare foot around to show just how fine his ankle really was and had to force himself to smile through the resulting pain. Balinor frowned, unconvinced.

"Merlin." The boy had to resist flinching at his father's stern tone.

"Really," Merlin pressed on, "it's _fine_."

Swayed by his son's insistence that his injury was nothing Balinor let the subject go, much to Merlin's relief. Instead the older man sat down next to the young warlock, who in turn leaned into his father's side, cherishing the warmth that radiated through his old, rough tunic.

"I hate winter." The boy mumbled to his father, who reached a comforting arm around Merlin's lean frame.

**I ended up splitting this passage into two parts so it'll resume tomorrow with this last line because otherwise the stopping point got a little muddled.**

**As always thanks for the reviews- it warms a writer's heart to hear all the praises :)**


	6. A Yuletide Surprise

**It was brought to my attention that there was some confusion as to how old Merlin and Arthur were and looking back over it's never really clarified. At the very, very beginning I mentioned that Balinor had been in Ealdor for 16 years, making Arthur 16 and Merlin 14 but that was in spring so now, during the winter, I'm going to say that Merlin is 15 and Arthur is 17. Just pretend that you read that in the text somewhere :)**

**Thanks to Lady Ningrum for bringing that to my attention :)**

**Now on to today's exciting installment...**

_"I hate winter." The boy mumbled to his father, who reached a comforting arm around Merlin's lean frame._

* * *

"I know my boy." Balinor sighed and rubbed Merlin's shoulder.

The raven-haired boy frowned deeply and pushed himself away from his father slightly.

"I'm being a child, aren't I?" He asked reproachfully, knowing full well that he indeed was.

Balinor shrugged, "Sometimes that's not so bad." There was a pause before the man spoke again.

"Merlin, I know that winter affects you in ways that we can't understand- ways that you can't understand." The boy nodded silently. "And I'm deeply sorry for that."

Merlin felt his brow furrow in confusion. "Why are you sorry? I'm the one that should be apologizing for acting this way."

"There are things, Merlin, things about yourself that you don't know just yet. But know this, son, for you to be this in-tune with nature that you are so affected in this way is not necessarily a bad thing." In that moment, Balinor looked so much older than he really was.

"What things?" Merlin pressed.

"Things that will be revealed in time, my son. All in time." The young warlock surveyed his father with confused interest. Balinor's blue-grey eyes had a strange, far-off look in them that Merlin had only seen a few times before. And honestly, it scared him. What could be so important about him that his father would become so serious, so suddenly?

The two were so lost in their conversation that Merlin hadn't noticed his mother leaving the room and returning with something bright in her hands.

"Maybe this will cheer you up!" Hunith said with a cheerful twinkle in her voice as she proffered a strange strip of red fabric to Merlin. He took the fabric, feeling the soft material between his fingers.

His mother looked so happy that he was sad when he had to ask "what is it?" Her face fell a little but she kept her smile nonetheless.

"It's a neckerchief!" The brown-haired woman sang merrily. "I was going to give it to you tonight but you looked so down just now that I decided you needed a pick-me-up."

Merlin surveyed the fabric and ran it through his fingers. Though it was still coarse and stiff, the fabric was marginally nicer than anything he owned and he knew that even for the mere scrap that would have gone into making the neckerchief, his mother would have paid a large sum.

"But how could we…" He started but was stopped by the look on his mother's face. She had gone from looking so happy to seeming very sad. "Never mind, I love it! Thank you!"

Hunith's face instantly lit up again and she hurried forward to help her son tie the bright fabric around his neck. It felt good resting against his skin, like it was naturally meant to sit there. Merlin was pleasantly surprised by how right the additional garment felt.

"It feels good. Thank you mother, this is a wonderful gift." Merlin forced himself to sound cheery, to sound happy, despite actually feeling utterly lost and completely hopeless, not to mention in pain. Hunith either didn't notice or didn't care that Merlin was lying and, after embracing her son tightly, returned to the table to finish her cooking, humming as she did so.

Merlin spent the rest of the day in front of the fire, not getting up even when his father left him. He didn't want to get up. He was tired. He was cold. He was in pain. The only reason that he eventually moved was because his mother had called him to dinner, though the deep ache in his ankle killed what little appetite he had.

Hunith had pulled out all the stops for their Yuletide meal. She had prepared a huge pot of her coveted beef stew as well as bread baked in a neighbor's brick oven, so fresh that steam still rolled off the golden crust. There were even dried, sugared fruits to accompany the meal, as well as spiced cider.

Merlin ate little of the food despite it tasting wonderful. He was simply not hungry. Over the course of the day the boy had developed a strange sense of foreboding. It started off as a simple feeling that something was going to go wrong that evening but he had dismissed it as simple paranoia that Arthur would tease him for his neckerchief. But as he sat by the fire, it worsened, developing into a strangled panic that tugged at his chest painfully and made his stomach flip with worry.

"…okay?" Merlin stared down at his bowl of half-eaten stew intently. He wasn't actually looking at the stew itself, just using it as a reference point as his thoughts whizzed through his head and the feeling of sheer panic rose in his belly.

"Merlin?" The raven-haired boy looked up and shrunk away from the hand that touched shoulder. Arthur was sitting beside him with a worried look on his face, hand poised in mid-air where Merlin had been sitting a moment ago. His heart raced wildly in his chest.

"Son?" Balinor stared at him from across the table, concern evident in his blue-grey eyes. Hunith was looking from her husband to Merlin with the same, worried, confused look.

Merlin shifted awkwardly, trying to smile through his painfully obvious discomfort. "Uh… sorry. I was thinking." He swallowed hard. "What were we talking about?"

It was clear that his family was not going to let it go just like that. Merlin silently cursed their knack for caring. "Really, I'm fine. I just had this funny feeling. It's nothing. What were we talking about again?"

"Well…" Hunith started; clearly still not convinced that Merlin was fine. "Arthur was just commenting about your new neckerchief." A small smile began to play upon her lips. She reached under the table and came up with a familiar blue scrap of fabric in her hands. Merlin glanced over to his brother and couldn't help but grin at the horror that flashed across the blonde's face when their mother first appeared with the blue neckerchief.

"Oh… I…" Arthur stammered as Hunith handed him the fabric. "I uh… I don't know what to say."

Merlin grinned harder as his brother began to blush. "I um… Thank you mother. It's uh… it's perfect." Arthur choked out through flustered glanced down at the neckerchief in his hands.

Hunith hurried around the table and helped the older boy tie the fabric around his neck, ignoring his obvious horror at the gift.

"There now!" She said triumphantly, quickly returning to her seat to look happily upon the two boys. "Now you two match!"

Merlin had to hide his smile from Arthur, who was clearly not amused by the situation. It was made no better when Balinor decided to cut in.

"Best looking boys in the entire village, wouldn't you say Hunith?" He reached over and squeezed his wife's hand that had been resting on the table. She turned to him lovingly.

"One of them." Merlin watched the scene playing out with faked horror as his mother reached up to brush some of his father's long black hair out of his face. He in turn pulled her close and pushed his lips into hers tenderly. The two boys let out dramatic gags and Merlin felt himself being pulled into the evening, despite his bad feeling.

The rest of the night was not uneventful. After a bit too much spiced cider Balinor began to loudly sing drinking songs, terribly out of key and not quite with the right melody. Regardless, Merlin and Arthur joined in as Hunith laughed and danced around to the terrible tunes. Shortly after the singing started Will and his mother knocked on the door, bringing a basket of bread and preserved fruits with them. They joined in the festivities, drank merrily and did not leave until late into the night. Arthur and Will even seemed to put aside their differences for the evening and ended up dancing together as Merlin and Balinor sang obnoxiously.

When Will and his mother finally left, Hunith cleared the mess from the table, put the rest of the stew aside to be eaten in the morning, and helped their drunken father off to bed, Merlin began to feel the panic set in once again.

He couldn't explain the feeling to Arthur when he was questioned by his slightly drunk brother after their parent's had gone to bed. Merlin just told the blonde to dismiss it and go to sleep, which Arthur did almost immediately.

The raven-haired boy sat before the fire once more, wrapped under a protective layer of blankets that could not help him shake the cold feeling that grasped him. This was not a simple chill that ran through Merlin's body. He knew that it was somehow related to the horrible feeling still churning in his stomach and threatening to bring what little he had eaten up.

Merlin was relieved when the little bit of cider he had consumed started to take hold and make him drift off towards unconsciousness. Just as he felt his head loll to the side and the darkness begin to close in, Merlin jerked awake once more.

The strange feeling in his chest had for some reason suddenly multiplied, strangling him. Gasping for air, Merlin turned to Arthur who was asleep quietly in his bed. Something was wrong. Something bad was about to happen. He could feel it.

"Arthur!" Merlin called out quietly between horrible, panicked breaths. "Arthur… Wake up… Something's wrong."

The older boy rolled over with a groan, trying to swat away Merlin who had grasped onto his blankets in terror and was trying to shake the blonde awake.

"Arthur please!" The young warlock swung around wildly, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary that could possibly give him such an awful feeling. That's when he spotted it.

Outside of one of the open windows there was a soft, blue glow. Not the glow of early morning, but of magic. Dark magic. Merlin froze and looked at the light in shock, trembling with pure terror.

"Merlin what are you- Merlin?" The blonde asked with annoyance until he spotted his brother's face. "Merlin what's wrong?"

But Merlin couldn't answer. His breath was caught painfully in his frantically beating chest, leaving him unable to make a sound. Instead the raven-haired boy just stared at his brother with a look of pure terror on his face, pleading silently with the older boy to understand that something was terribly wrong.

It was obvious that the state of his brother terrified Arthur. The blonde grabbed one of Merlin's arms painfully and began to shake it in an effort to bring him out of whatever it was that was gripping him.

"Merlin what's wrong? Answer me!" Arthur was practically shouting now. He turned away from Merlin to glance at their parent's door. "Hang on- I'll go get father, he'll know what to do!"

The younger boy reached up to stop his brother but it was too late, as soon as Arthur set his foot on the floor there was a horrible bang and Merlin suddenly found himself being flung through the air.

He landed painfully on his side, rolled twice, and came to a skidding halt just before his parent's bedroom door. Merlin's world was spinning horribly when he opened his sky-blue eyes to see where Arthur had gone.

For a sickening moment, the spinning wouldn't stop and all that the young warlock could see was vague shapes and colors. Blinking away the pain, Merlin worked to concentrate on the object directly in front of him. It took a moment of concentrating before the blurry image sharpened enough for him to see that it was his mother's heavy stew pot that had come to rest not four inches from his face.

From a few paces away a pained groan sounded from under a pile of debris that looked like the remainder of their beds. Merlin struggled to raise himself up but struggled through the overall ache that ran through his abused body.

When he finally managed to push himself into a sitting position Merlin looked around blearily to see just what had happened. Nothing could have prepared the youth for what he saw, however.

The entire far side of their house was just… gone. Well, not gone, currently scattered around Merlin and burying his brother but it was no longer where it should be. There was a lone figure standing just about where the fireplace used to be, holding an orb of blue light in one hand and reaching the other out towards Merlin, palm up.

Before the young warlock could understand what was happening a pillar of horrible blue flames shot put of the figure's palm, headed directly towards Merlin. The boy pulled his arms up above his head instinctively, though it would do little to protect him from the magical flames that were now shooting towards him. He briefly wondered if it would hurt, dying that is.

But the flames never reached the raven-haired boy. There was a shout, a noise somewhat comparable to molten metal being dropped into water, and suddenly Merlin found himself in the protective embrace of his father.

Balinor's eyes were glowing gold as he worked to maintain the blue-tinted shield that kept the flames from burning them all to a crisp.

"Father!" Merlin managed to cry out, motioning to where Arthur was buried under a pile of wood and dust.

"It's okay now, Merlin. Go get your brother." The raven-haired boy untangled himself from his father's grasp and obeyed his command. He began wildly throwing chunks of debris to the side in an effort to unearth Arthur.

When he finally cleared enough of the pile to free his brother, Merlin had to fight down his fear at the sight of Arthur lying motionless, curled into a ball of self-defense.

"Arthur?" The young warlock called out quietly, afraid of what, if any at all, his brother's answer would be. Suddenly Arthur's eyes snapped open, revealing the startlingly-blue orbs that looked around wildly in search of answers as to what had happened.

"Merlin, Arthur! We need to go!" Balinor shouted from a few steps away. He was standing up straight, hand outstretched with his palm facing towards the figure. Though the flames had stopped some time ago, but the man was unwilling to drop the protective shield he had raised around them.

Merlin grasped his stunned brother's arm and hauled him upward, surprised by his own strength. Arthur was obviously still dazed and nearly fell over when the younger boy let go of him. Merlin briefly wondered how much of his stupor was from the fall and how much was from the copious amounts of spiced cider he'd consumed earlier that evening.

"Merlin!" Balinor shouted at his son. The energy that the man was putting into the shield was now evident in his sagging posture and the sweat that had started to bead on his forehead, despite the horrendous cold that was surrounding them.

Grasping his brother's arm once more, the young warlock pulled Arthur away from the debris and back towards their father. Despite feeling utterly exhausted, sore and his ankle protesting painfully with every step, Merlin allowed his brother to lean heavily on him.

Balinor wasted no time once the boys were back safely next to him. With a gruff shout the man let the shield dissipate and sent a massive ball of fire towards the figure. Merlin watched with wide eyes as the ball caught the opposing sorcerer off-guard and sent them flying backward, engulfed in blue-tinted flames.

The next thing that Merlin knew, he was being half-dragged by Balinor while he himself half-dragged Arthur out of the remains of their tiny house. Now that the initial shock had worn down and he was no longer surrounded in some form of magic, the raven-haired boy began to shiver in the freezing night air as he let his father pull in the direction of their run-down stable.

By the time that they reached the slightly-illuminated barn and found that Hunith had already saddles both of their horses, Arthur was managing to walk mostly on his own and seemed much more aware. Merlin noticed in the dim torchlight the red bump beginning to form on his brother's temple and figured that he must have hit his head during his fall.

Hunith was standing wild-eyed and terrified by the two horses she had prepared. Merlin never recalled seeing his mother that scared-looking every before and it only helped to feed the dear growing inside of him.

"Come, we must away." Balinor led his old chestnut horse toward the stable exit and mounted the saddle in a swift, practiced motion, then held his hand out to Merlin. The boy took his father's hand and allowed himself to be pulled up into the saddle to sit before the man, leaning against his chest. Balinor wound a protective arm around Merlin's slim waist and took the reins in the other. The old mare shifted uncomfortable under the weight of both the man and boy.

Merlin looked over to see that Arthur had mounted his own great black horse (a prize won in a bet with a travelling drunkard years ago) and was helping pull Hunith up into the saddle. Once she was settled behind her son's broad back, she wove her arms around his waist to prevent herself from falling off.

Balinor clicked to the old mare beneath them and she lunged forward tiredly, much too old for such strain. Merlin put a comforting hand on the old animal's neck and felt his magic burst forth from inside of him. Suddenly the mare seemed much more alert, stronger, and quickly picked up the pace.

As they rode through Ealdor Merlin nearly cried when he saw the state of their once-peaceful village. A vast majority of the homes lining the road were on fire or in some degree of ruin, theirs being the most badly damaged however. People—their friends—were running around in a panic, throwing buckets of water on the flames that consumed their meager houses and trying to save what little they could.

The panicked face of Will stood out from the crowd. He watched as Merlin and Balinor passed by on their now galloping horse. Just as they were about to overtake the spot where he stood, time seemed to slow down. The raven-haired boy's heart ached at the expression of pure terror and pleading in the other boy's eyes.

Merlin wanted nothing more than to take his friend with him, to steal him away into the night and take him far from the evil that was attacking their village but he knew that it was impossible. Sadness gripped the young warlock's heart as he turned his head to watch Will quickly grow farther and farther away, still stuck in the chaos of burning houses and screaming villagers. He hoped that somehow, the other boy would find it in himself to forgive Merlin one day. Losing Will would be like losing his own brother.

**Woah it's picking up guys! **

**I'd just like to say thanks to everyone who reviewed and especially Shadowdragon1317 for all her support and awesome reviews!**

**Seriously though check out her stories- they're really good!**


	7. Into the Night

**Today's update is sort of short but I've reached an impasse with my writing style and we're trying to work it out but if my writing gets a little less... formal I guess, bear with me.**

They rode hard into the night, not stopping until both the horses were lathered in sweat despite the piercing wind and freezing cold. When Balinor finally slowed, they had left Ealdor far behind. Satisfied that, for now, they were safe the man gave the okay to stop briefly and discuss what to do next.

"Where are we going?" Merlin asked breathlessly as he slid from his father's grip and down off the saddle, wincing slightly when he landed. His ankle still hurt.

Balinor looked around, even though the sun was not yet rising, the man seemed confident that he was moving in the right direction. "Camelot."

Arthur let out a strangled gasp and shot a strange, pleading look at Balinor. The man continued undeterred.

"We'll be safer there. I had hoped that… well I guess that it's not important. What's important is keeping you boys safe until we reach the city."

"Keeping us safe from whom though? Father who was that? Back at the house I mean." Merlin asked as he watched his father dismount from the horse. Balinor said nothing for a moment and the boy feared that the man was going to be cryptic as always, even in such a dire situation when they really needed some answers.

"An old enemy." He said finally, slowly beginning to pat the neck of his old mare. Merlin surveyed the state of the poor animal with sadness in his heart. She was lathered in thick foam, yet shivering slightly as steam rolled off of her damp chestnut fur. The little magic that the young warlock had used earlier had worn off long ago; the last few leagues of running had been on the aged animal's own accord- and it looked like she was paying for it dearly.

"She's in a poor way." Balinor sighed. Merlin knew that the animal meant a lot to his father. She had been in his care for as long as the boy could remember.

Without really realizing what he was doing, Merlin took the old mare's soft muzzle in his hands and stared into her pleading brown eyes. Then, he slowly rested his forehead onto the white patch just below the animal's short forelock.

"You've done well old girl." The young warlock felt a strange warmth well up in his chest as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply into the mare's soft nose. He could feel her warm breaths blow on his neck. Merlin leaned into the animal slightly. He could feel her fear, tiredness and aching in his heart. Something deep within the boy stirred, only slightly, at the beast's misery. It was a power that he had only felt a few times before- ancient, pure.

Suddenly the mare stopped breathing so heavily and Merlin could feel her relax in his hands. He opened his eyes and took a step back from the animal. She was watching the young warlock calmly, no longer foaming at the bit or blowing heavily.

Merlin looked sheepishly to his father who just nodded in return. Arthur and Hunith were watching from afar, understanding that whatever just happened was a magical affair and that they had no place in it. For a moment the young warlock felt a pang of sorrow for his older brother who had asked so wistfully the night before about having magic.

He had forgotten the talk briefly; it felt like it was so long ago. But for Merlin to so blatantly use magic in front of his brother so soon after such a serious conversation—it just seemed wrong. He threw the older boy an apologetic look that was simply shrugged off by the blond.

"We'll walk for a bit to give the horses some rest." Balinor said with a commanding tone. Merlin was struck by just how _calm_ his words were and wondered just what his father had done in the past that he could possibly be so composed during such a dire time. No one argued as Balinor trudged forward in the snow, leading the slightly-less tired mare by the reins behind him.

By the time that the dim light of morning had started to illuminate the snow with a bluish hue Merlin was thoroughly tired, soaked through from the light snow that had started during the night, and in near excruciating pain from his ankle; not to mention completely and utterly frozen.

But their situation didn't allow for a stop. Merlin knew that they needed to keep moving; it was an unspoken truth between the four weary travelers and the young warlock didn't want to be the one to slow them down. So he suffered in silence, shivering as the jacket he wore did little to stop the chill of winter from seeping into his skin, his flesh, his very being.

Oh yes, Merlin still hated winter.

"We should rest here." Balinor said after hours of endless walking. Merlin looked up and was slightly confused to see that they were walking through a dense forest- _when_ had they left the main road?

The woods offered a great deal of shelter from the snow but that didn't stop the annoying white fluff from covering the ground in a thin, treacherous blanket. Balinor led the mare to a bare tree and wrapped the reins he had been holding for the past few hours around the grey bark, flexing his hand with a wince.

Arthur followed suit, tying his own black horse next to the chestnut. For a moment, they all just stood, looking at each other with wide, tired eyes.

"Merlin?" The raven-haired youth didn't realize that he was swaying until he found himself being practically held up in his father's chest, leaning heavily on the man's chest.

"Mhm. Just tired. Didn't sleep. Funny feeling." Merlin muttered, blinking hard in an attempt to wake himself up a little bit. He quickly pushed away from his father and flashed a reassuring—though not convincing—grin to show that he was indeed okay.

Balinor didn't seem convinced. He looked to Arthur and Hunith, and then stood for a moment, silently thinking before he spoke.

"We'll rest here for the morning but he have to start moving again in a few hours." He ran a hand through his long, dark locks. "I wish that we could stay longer but we'll be safest once we make it to Camelot."

Merlin almost collapsed on the spot when his father announced that they had a few hours before they had to start moving again. His ankle was throbbing painfully, the injury, though not that bad to begin with, should have been rested- not walked miles on. The young warlock wondered briefly if he had ended up doing serious damage based on the odd crunching noises emanating from the joint whenever he would take a step. He cursed his own cowardice towards pain and wished that he would have let his father take care of the injury the previous day.

The previous day. It seemed so long ago. So much had happened between sitting beside the fireplace, dry and safe and running for their lives from a nameless sorcerer obviously out for blood. Merlin couldn't help but let out a humorless laugh at the ridiculousness of their situation.

"Merlin, darling come sit down. You look like you're about to fall over." Merlin looked up with a start, not realizing that he had been staring at the snow blankly. Hunith was sitting on a fallen log that someone had brushed most of the snow from. She patted the decaying bark next to her with a small, forced smile.

It pained the young warlock to see how terrible his normally-beautiful mother looked. Her brown hair was in a state of what could only be described as disarray. She was startlingly pale but somehow had strikingly dark circles under her weary eyes and it seemed that she was still wearing her thin night-dress under a damp cloak that was wrapped tightly around her shaking shoulders.

She normally looked so well-kempt and put together, now she just looked scared and small. Merlin joined his mother on the log and leaned into her slight frame. He felt completely awful, but began to enjoy the warmth that his mother's body pressed into his provided.

"Balinor!" Hunith suddenly exclaimed with fear reflected deep in her voice. Merlin, who had been resting his mess of raven-hair against her cheek, felt his eyes flutter open at his mother's cry. Funny- he didn't remember closing them.

"He's burning up." She gasped. Balinor stood up from where he was gathering sticks for a fire not far away and looked at Merlin critically. The boy stared back at his father, finding it strangely hard to concentrate on the man.

Merlin was no stranger to fevers and chills. The winter was never kind and he couldn't remember one instance of the blasted season when he didn't end up bedridden for one reason or another. But he didn't feel ill now- just exhausted.

"M'okay." The young warlock protested weakly as he fought to keep his eyes open. "M'just… tired."

There was suddenly a cold hand on his forehead. Merlin opened his eyes again- he really needed to stop closing them- and looked up blearily at his father. Concern flashed across Balinor's weathered when the boy opened his eyes.

"Balinor?" Hunith asked softly when he withdrew his hand from Merlin's forehead and began running it through his long hair. Merlin knew what the hair touching meant. It was a nervous habit that his father had developed when the boys were still young. Whenever one would fall ill or injure themselves, sure enough, their father would begin running his fingers through his long black hair. It meant that something was seriously wrong.

**Sick Merlin is the best Merlin :)**


	8. We Ride at Dawn

**Hey sorry that this is sort of short but I've officially run out of pre-written material and I didn't realize that so when I went to publish this today I was like "OH NO".**

**I might start doing every-other day updates- though I'm not sure yet.**

**Anyway onto the story :)**

Arthur was tired. After being rudely awoken from his slightly-drunken sleep in the rudest way possible- being flung backward and buried under rubble- he had been forced to ride for hours without the slightest hint as to where they were going or what they were running from. To top it all off when Balinor finally _did_ say where they were headed it was the one place that Arthur had secretly vowed never to go. Camelot.

It all came to a horrible crescendo when the blond realized that Merlin was sick. It had been too dark to tell before- not that Arthur could have noticed through the overall panic of the situation- but it was all too apparent now that the younger boy wasn't in the best of shape.

Merlin had grown far too pale and his normally bright, alert blue eyes had taken on a somewhat glassy, feverish look- as if he couldn't concentrate on anything yet, at the same time seemed to be looking around, trying to take in everything at once.

"Balinor!" Arthur looked up at his mother's frightened cry. She was sitting on a fallen log with Merlin leaning heavily against her. "He's burning up."

All of a sudden the world seemed to stop moving. Nothing mattered in that instant but Merlin- not even the fact that they were running for their life.

"M'okay." Arthur winced at the weak tones of his brother's voice. "M'just… tired."

But it was painfully obvious that he was not just tired. It was made all the worse when Balinor put his hand to Merlin's forehead, only to pull it back and start the hair touching. The hair touching was _never_ a good sign.

"Balinor?" Hunith asked, concern lacing her voice.

"Father?" Arthur called out shakily. He could feel it- a nagging sensation building in his chest and constricting his breath- fear.

Balinor didn't answer the blond boy's call at first. He just stood, staring at the sick boy before him, tousling his long hair aggressively.

"Father?" The blond tried again but Balinor just stared ahead. When the man finally looked over to Arthur, the boy wished that he hadn't.

The man's blue eyes weren't strong and determined anymore. They weren't commanding and confident. His eyes just looked lost. For the first time ever, Arthur saw that his father- his headstrong, powerful _sorcerer_ of a father- had no idea what to do.

"I…" Balinor started but trailed off immediately. Then, back as quickly as it had gone, determination returned to the blue-grey orbs.

"We need to get to Camelot. It's another half-day's ride from here but it's our only- Merlin's only- chance." Arthur looked from his brother to his father and couldn't help but feel that he was right. The raven-haired boy's skin was nearly as pale as the snow around him and shaking violently.

Arthur bit his bottom lip in silent protest. He knew that Merlin needed help and quickly but why Camelot? After the shock discovering the truth the blond had vowed that would never travel to the city. He didn't want to. He wasn't Arthur, Prince of Camelot. He was Arthur, Balinor's son who lived in the little farming village of Ealdor with his awkward warlock of a brother and normal mother.

"Come on son, up we get." Balinor was lifting Merlin up from where he had been sitting and started guiding the wobbling youth to the horses.

It took a painfully long amount of time to get the young warlock to the already-exhausted horses. He was walking with a bad limp and looked as though a slight breeze could knock him over. Arthur felt a pang of guilt for making Merlin carry the firewood with him after he fell.

When Balinor moved to put Merlin on his old chestnut mare Arthur quickly stepped forward.

"No." The blond said firmly. The horse was too old and, despite whatever magical… thing Merlin had previously done to the animal, it probably couldn't support the weight of a rider- even one as thin as Merlin, for much longer. "Put him on my horse. He's stronger."

Balinor just nodded and led Merlin over to the much younger animal. It took quite a bit of gentle pushing and pulling on both Arthur and his father's part to get the ailing boy on the horse. If Merlin was aware of what was going on he certainly didn't show it and made no efforts to help. In fact, by the time that they managed to get the boy into the saddle Arthur was certain that his brother was _purposefully_ fighting them.

When Merlin was safely sitting (if it could be called that, more like slumped) on the horse Balinor turned gravely to Arthur.

"Arthur. Listen to me- this is extremely important- I need you to get Merlin to Camelot." Arthur creased his brow and stared at his father.

"Just follow these woods, follow the rising sun." Balinor suddenly looked extremely pained. The blond felt his throat tighten at the implication of his father's words. He didn't plan on coming with them.

"You should- will reach Camelot just before evening. Waste no time Arthur. Merlin must get to Gaius, the court physician, as soon as possible."

_No. Come with us._

"I won't leave you father." Arthur tried to make his tone sound authoritative but failed miserably. He was actually surprised by the fear and pleading that rang through his voice when he spoke. Balinor just shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry Arthur I truly am…" Balinor paused for a moment before looking Arthur dead in the eyes. "For everything. I brought this upon you and Merlin and now I must right the wrongs."

"But…" Arthur protested weakly but was stopped with a wave of his father's calloused hand. Callouses earned from years of toiling in the fields to keep Arthur happy, to feed him, clothe him, and keep a roof over his head. The blond was suddenly taken aback by just how _selfish_ he'd been. Everything had been for him and now, his father might die for him.

"Arthur- listen to me." The boy almost flinched at the commanding tones of his father's voice. "You need to not argue with me about this. You need to take your brother to Camelot."

Balinor's eyes, which had been cold as steel during his little speech, suddenly grew soft.

"Everything will be fine once you reach Camelot. After all, it's where you belong." Though the man's last words were said with kindness and sincerity they cut through Arthur like the sharp end of a blade.

Did his father really believe that? Did he really not fit in with their family so much so that he was sending him away because of it?

"Tell… Tell the court who you are and your story… they'll believe it because you'd be the only one who knew such tales. And Arthur, don't be afraid. Never be afraid my son." With that Balinor pulled his oldest son in for a hug. Arthur didn't fight his father's embrace despite knowing that he was far too old to partake in such practices.

He hugged Balinor tightly, not wanting the embrace to end. "I don't want to leave you father." Arthur said quietly. He felt something warm drip down his cheek and run into the corners of his mouth, the salty taste seeping through his slightly ajar lips.

Why am I crying? I don't cry. Merlin is the one who cries.

"I'll join you when I can. Don't worry Arthur," The blond felt his father's grip tighten around him. "Everything is going to be alright." They broke apart and Arthur's heart flipped when he saw that there were tears streaming down his father's weary face.

It was only then that a horrible thought struck the boy.

"Mother's not coming either, is she?" His voice sounded hopeless and lost.

Balinor looked from his wife, who had crossed the short distance during their embrace, to Arthur with sorrow in his eyes.

Hunith put a soft hand on Arthur's shoulder. "No sweetheart. I have to stay here with your father for now. Don't worry about me- just get to Camelot." The sadness in her kind face made a new wave of tears fall well up in the blond's eyes.

"But…" Arthur struggled to find the words. Any words at all that could convince his parents not to do this. Not to leave him. Not to put themselves in danger to save his sorry hide. But he knew that all his arguments would be lost when he turned to the steely gaze of his father.

There was suddenly someone hugging the blond tightly but he only barely recognized it as his mother. Everything was starting to feel strangely detached, like he was standing there next to himself, just watching as the moment passed.

There was another hug from his father, a few tears shed, and then Arthur found himself on his horse with Merlin leaning heavily against his chest. Then the older boy realized that he was moving, bouncing along with the canter of his great horse, following the rising sun just like Balinor had instructed.

By midday the horse was nearly spent from the hard ride and Arthur felt for the poor creature but he willed the beast to hold on just a bit longer. Merlin had gone completely limp not long after they started riding the raven-haired youth was beginning to worry the older boy. Even through his winter tunic Arthur could feel heat radiating from his brother despite the horrible cold closing in around them.

The sick boy was a good distraction though- from what had happened and from what was to come.


	9. A Late Arrival

**First of all thanks to Shadowdragon1317 for the beta! :D**

**Secondly whew! I hope that the little break wasn't too long for everyone... I'm technically posting this on the 26th even though it's 1 in the morning but it counts as two days darn it!**

There was a strange sense of relief mixed with foreboding and terror raging within Arthur when the walls of the citadel finally came into view.

The castle rose high above the lower town made of gleaming white stone that literally sparkled in the evening sun. Arthur felt his mouth fall open at the sight but he shut it quickly. There wasn't time to be gawking. In the past hour Merlin had begun to stir slightly, but it more worrying that reassuring.

The young warlock would cough every few minute and begin to struggle against his brother's tight grip as though he were trying to escape a monster. Arthur simply held onto Merlin as best he could and whispered soothing words into the younger boy's ear.

The blond wasn't sure if his words actually reached Merlin or not but after a few minutes of his gentle talking the boy would fall silent and still against Arthur's chest once more, only to repeat the process a short time later.

Arthur was immensely grateful that Merlin decided to stay calm when he entered the lower town.

Camelot was… busy, in a word. Despite the cold and the late hour there were still people everywhere. Peasants walked through the streets in their winter clothes of dull greys and browns. Courtiers in fine dresses milled about the market stalls with furs wrapped around their shoulders to keep them warm. Guards and knights alike roamed around with purpose in their step. Beggars sat in the snow, holding out cups and begging for coin.

Yet, it seemed that for as busy as the town was everyone had the time to stop and stare at the two boys as they passed. Arthur began to grow annoyed at the stares he was receiving- though to be honest they probably did look anything but normal.

There was Merlin who was looking deathly pale, dressed in too-light of clothing for the season and leaning limply against his brother's chest. Then there was Arthur, who was tired and freezing- also not dressed in appropriate clothing, riding a horse that looked much too fine to belong to such poor-looking boys.

But Arthur just gritted his teeth and led the black horse through the streets, thinking only of Merlin who was burning against his chest.

"You riding the black horse. Halt." A stern voice called from behind Arthur's back. He was reluctant to follow whoever was shouting's command but the blond did as he was told anyway, not in the mood to start a fight.

"The boy- has he been injured?" A tall, muscular man with curly blond hair and a beard stepped up beside the horse, wearing fine chainmail and a red cloak with a golden dragon on it. Arthur just stared at the man with his mouth open. No, not at the man- at the knight. He was talking to a knight.

"Boy?" The knight asked again, compassion ringing through his voice.

Finally pulled out of his trance, Arthur found his words.

"Er… No, well not injured- I mean he _has_ an injury but that's not the point- he's sick. I'm come seeking Gaius, the court physician." Arthur stuttered rather dumbly.

The knight tugged at his beard thoughtfully, eyeing the pair. Arthur met his eyes pleadingly.

"Please… he's… he's all I have left."

Thankfully it was at that moment that Merlin decided it was time for another coughing fit. The raven-haired boy pulled forward almost too quickly for Arthur to grasp him once more before the younger boy fell off the horse.

When Merlin pitched forward the knight moved with rapid speed as though he planned on catching the boy if he fell, worry suddenly filling his eyes. Arthur managed to grasp onto the back of his brother's shirt just in time and he pulled the boy back into his protective grip- though Merlin was once again struggling against his hold.

Without another word, the knight turned and began walking quickly. "Follow me."

Arthur urged his horse forward, cringing slightly when the tired animal practically groaned underneath him. But he couldn't think of the beast right now- all that mattered was to get Merlin to Gaius. The younger boy had stopped struggling and went back to his limp position.

Thanking the gods for small miracles, the tired blond followed the knight who was leading him through the crowd. At the sight of their escort, people seemed to part for Arthur's horse to pass. He briefly wondered if this is what it would feel like to be the prince but the blond shook the thoughts away and chose to focus once more on Merlin.

Even though the raven-haired boy had grown still once more, Arthur was growing increasingly worried. It seemed that every second that passed his brother got a little bit worse. Heat was practically radiating off of the warlock's body and his breaths had become shallow and pained.

A flood of relief washed over Arthur when the knight finally led them past the castle gates. The blond stared in wide-eyed wonder at the scene before him. They had emerged into a snow-filled courtyard filled with knights and peasants alike. There seemed to be so much going on. Horses were coming and going; wealthy-looking men and women were being helped off of their mounts and walking up the massive row of white stone steps that led into the castle. Everyone was chatting so merrily then Arthur remembered why- it was Yuletide.

A pang of sadness gripped the blond's heart when he thought about the holiday and how he couldn't spend it with his friends and family like he normally did. If there hadn't been so many pressing eyes on him at the moment Arthur was sure he would have broken down and started to cry. Instead, the boy just put on a steely face and hugged Merlin closer.

The red cloak that he had been following suddenly disappeared into a sea of like garments and Arthur looked up in alarm. It was only then that the blond realized the severity of his situation. He was certain that Merlin wouldn't be able to walk and to be honest after everything that had happened and the fact that they had ridden nearly all day Arthur wasn't so confident with his own strength. Even if he managed to get himself and Merlin off of the horse how would he be able to carry his brother and lead the horse- let alone find this Gaius?

Panic once again setting in the older boy looked around wildly. It no longer did any good to search for the red cape as there were knights adorned with the crimson cape all around them. Instead, Arthur focused on trying to find the curly blond hair of the man he had followed. His eyes scanned over the crowd and found that many were looking back at him.

Not the nobles of course, but the servants and stable boys, even some of the knights were looking at Arthur- well, Merlin most likely- with confusion, concern or a general look of surprise on their faces. The boy offhandedly wondered just how bad the two must look, cold, sick, scared out their wits and, at least on Arthur's part (he wasn't sure if Merlin knew what happened) wrought with grief.

Suddenly the curly-haired knight was back, along with two guards. Alarm shot through Arthur when he saw the guards approaching but he quickly relaxed when he saw the concern on their faces and the fact that they were empty handed. The knight, however, was not. He was holding two blankets, one in each hand.

"Here." The blond knight handed one of the blankets up to Arthur who took it silently. He quickly unfurled the folded fabric and wrapped it around Merlin's front. The raven-haired boy struggled for a moment but didn't put up much of a fight, which only served to worry Arthur more.

"This one is for you. You look frozen." Arthur took the blanket, mumbling thanks and apologies (though he wasn't quite sure why he was apologizing) but didn't wrap the fabric around his shoulders. Instead, he draped the second blanket over Merlin as well. To his brother's horror the younger boy didn't stir at all.

The knight was eyeing the scene with mild interest when Arthur turned his attention back to him. The boy shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, entirely unsure on what to do from here. Merlin needed to get down but he was now completely limp in his brother's arms and shivering slightly.

"Pass him down to me." The knight said quietly, holding out his arms. Arthur looked from his unconscious brother to the blond knight with apprehension. He didn't want to let Merlin fall and he was fairly certain that, given his current state, he could not lift the younger boy.

"Don't worry, I'll catch him."

Biting his bottom lip, the blond boy half-shoved, half lowered Merlin into the knight's outstretched arms. Arthur felt a wave of relief when the raven-haired boy was safely off the horse- followed instantly by a bone-deep, soul shattering weariness.

Without realizing how or why the blond suddenly found himself in the protective grip of the two guards that the knight had brought with him. They were shouting something at him- though Arthur couldn't tell what- but it didn't seem like angry shouting, more… concerned.

It didn't matter how loudly the guards shouted though, because the very next second Arthur's vision swam sickeningly and a strange blackness began to cover his eyes. But it was good. The darkness was warm and comforting- a release from the horrible stress and weariness that the blond felt. With the knowledge that Merlin would be safe and that he had gotten his brother to safety, the older boy let himself drift off into peaceful oblivion.

**Okay so here we go! They're in Camelot guys YAAAAAY!**

**As always thanks to all those who reviewed- I hope it's not getting too boring for y'all ;)**


	10. Gaius's Relaxing Evening

**Whew! We're into the double-digits chapter wise! I'm not sure about the whole "update daily" thing for this chapter because I'm honestly not sure when I published the last one. I think I'm still within two days.**

**Thanks to Shadowdragon1317 for the beta! :)**

If there's one thing that Gaius hadn't been expecting, it was to have Sir Leon and two guards suddenly barge into his chambers in the middle of his solitary dinner, two unconscious youths in tow. But years of being a physician had already prepared the old man for this sort of thing and he quickly forgot his bowl of watery stew and sprang into action.

The boy that Sir Leon held in his arms was in obvious need of medical attention. His breathing was hitched and shallow and, despite his thin clothes, beads of sweat were forming on his pale skin. The other boy, however, looked like he merely collapsed from exhaustion, possibly from the cold, but definitely not in any serious danger.

"Bring him over here, Sir Leon." Gaius pointed to his own bed close to the fire. The knight nodded and came forward with the youth.

"Put the older one in the other bed- thank you." The guards did as they were told wordlessly and turned to leave but Leon remained firmly by the younger boy's side.

"What can I do Gaius?" The knight asked seriously, his green eyes staring at the old physician intently. A list of things ran through Gaius's head all at once. _First they would need to get some medicine into the boy, then get his fever down, of course they'd have to do a full examination of both youths to check for injury- oh but the older boy would need to get warm- blankets, maybe some warmer clothes._

"Go in the spare room and fetch as many blankets as you can find." Gaius sighed wearily. He had just spent a majority of his day treating a chill that was working its way through the lower town and he had been looking forward to a quiet evening of reading and replenishing his potion stocks but it seemed that he'd have no such luck.

With Leon gone to find blankets, the old physician began examining the boy on the bed. He was pale as the snow and shivering slightly despite his close proximity to the fire and the two blankets already draped over his long, thin frame. For some reason, though Gaius did not know this boy and had seen worse illnesses in younger patients, the physician felt a strange paternal feeling towards the boy- almost like it was his own son lying on the bed.

Gaius was brought out of his thoughts when Leon returned with the blankets and the physician set about his practiced work. First they took care of the younger boy. He was mostly unresponsive but the pair managed to get a potion into the youth with little difficulty. Then he instructed Leon to see if the knight could get some heavier clothes from the servants' quarters for both boys while the physician checked them over for injury.

The raven-haired lad seemed clear of injuries expect for his ankle, which was swollen and bruised but merely sprained. Gaius made a mental note to give the boy something for the pain when he woke. The older boy, on the other hand, was covered in little scratches and bruises that appeared to be fairly new, the most worrying of the injuries being a large, purple bruise that covered the boy's left temple.

The physician checked the boy's eyes to check for concussion. He stared into the deep blue orbs for some time, not really paying attention to what he was supposed to be doing. Those eyes… they looked so familiar. But there wasn't time for that. Gaius heaved himself off of the blond's bed where he had been sitting after he was sure that the youth wasn't concussed and returned his attention to the younger boy.

Leon returned a moment later, two sets of clothing in hand along with a young woman with chocolate eyes and dark mocha skin.

"Hello Gaius." She said solemnly, looking down at the unconscious boys.

"Guinevere! Shouldn't you be attending to the lady Morgana?" Gaius raised his eyebrows in surprise. Guinevere, Gwen for short, was no stranger to the infirmary. She would volunteer her services when things got too busy and was a natural-born healer and nurturer. It was only a shame that she was destined to be a serving girl and not a physician.

The dark-skinned woman shook her head with a smile. "My lady retired early tonight and then I bumped into Sir Leon, asking for servant clothing of all things."

Sir Leon stiffened and looked slightly embarrassed. Gaius just chuckled softly.

"We have to get them into the dry clothing now- you should wait outside for the time being Gwen."

Gwen looked like she was going to protest for a moment before bowing her head submissively, a gesture learned after years of being a servant, and left the physician's chambers. Gaius heard her settle just outside the door before turning to Leon and taking the clothing.

Despite the blond's injuries, the physician moved to undress the younger boy first. The fever had completely soaked the youth's clothes and it would do him a great deal of good to get into something clean and dry.

The raven-haired boy's body was unremarkable. He was thin and pale- fairly common for a peasant. The blond, on the other hand, was a completely different story. He was build was the exact opposite of the other boy. He was muscular and sturdy. Leon commented that he had a better body than most of the knights, and Gaius had to agree.

When everything was said and done and the two boys were both buried under a mountain of blankets with medicine and a little water in their bellies, Leon excused himself. Gwen had ventured back in when they finished changing the boy's clothes and was sitting next to the raven-haired youth, gently wiping his brow with a cold cloth.

"What happened to them Gaius?" The dark-skinned servant asked quietly, concern lacing her voice.

Gaius sighed deeply. "I'm not exactly sure, Gwen. We'll know when they wake. For now all that we can do is wait."

Gwen looked down at the boy tenderly, cooing like a mother would to a baby. The old physician couldn't help but furrow his brow in concern for the youths. Given the severity of their injuries at least the blond boy should have woken by now. Yet, they both remained asleep.

_What on earth happened to you two?_

* * *

A strange smell greeted Arthur's nose when he felt himself coming back to the waking world. Or, more like a series of strange smells. There were earthy smells, sage, rosemary, thyme and the light scent of smoke but then there were also sweet smells, almost like perfume too. It wasn't unpleasant- just overwhelming. He was vaguely aware of the popping and cracking of a fire somewhere in the background, along with a strange grinding noise- like two rocks being smashed together. With a spectacular groan, the blond forced his stunningly blue eyes open and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling.

He had no memory of how he had gotten to wherever he was but it felt strangely safe. Arthur blinked a few times, then without thinking tried to sit up. This proved to be a horrible idea, the blond found quickly, when every muscle in his body screamed in protest and he fell backwards with a grunt. The grinding-noise stopped abruptly at his cry.

"Awake then are we?" Arthur nearly fell over out of fright when a kind, older-sounding voice called out to him gently.

"Merlin?" The blond suddenly remembered his brother.

"The boy is fine- he's resting. Here, drink this." An aged face swam into Arthur's line of sight. The man must have been close to his 70th year. His skin was wrinkled to the point of being ridiculous and one of his eyes didn't seem to open correctly, giving him a slanted appearance.

Something cold was pressed to the blond's lips and he struggled against it for a moment.

"It's just medicine to relieve your aches my boy. Drink." The old man said firmly yet compassionately. Arthur gave in despite his reservations and let the liquid slide into his mouth, wishing a second later that he hadn't. Whatever it was- it tasted more horrible than anything the blond had ever had before.

He gagged and resisted the urge to spit the liquid out, which was not an easy feat.

"Here, drink this too." There was a hand that helped to sit Arthur up in the next second and the edge of a cup was raised to his lips. The boy was pleasantly surprised to find that it was water, not whatever the horrible substance from before had been.

Now that Arthur was upright he could get a better view of the room around him. It was a large space but every inch of it was packed with something. There were multiple tables, completely covered with strange glass containers that were filled with bright liquids, books of every size; loose paper was strewn all over the place too. There were shelves lining the room either holding vials of potion or books.

In the center of the room there was a merrily crackling fire with a bed pulled close to the flames. Under a mountain of blankets, Arthur could barely make out the form of his brother sleeping soundly.

"Are you Gaius?" He choked after finishing the water. The old man raised an eyebrow at Arthur.

"Yes… May I ask your name?" Gaius asked.

Arthur hesitated. He looked back over to Merlin before continuing. "I'm… I'm Arthur and my brother is Merlin."

The old physician stared at the blond for a moment with his mouth slightly open.

"Hunith and Balinor's children?" Arthur nodded. His heart did a flip at the mention of his parents. Up until this point he had only thought about Merlin and hadn't confronted the memories of leaving his mother and father in the woods. Or the notion that they might be dead.

"Oh." Gaius sighed.

There was a pregnant silence which made Arthur fidget a bit under his pile of blankets. He kept glancing over to Merlin, who was still silent and unmoving, then back to Gaius, who was staring at the blond like he was a ghost.

"How much do you know?" The old physician asked suddenly. Even though his voice had been quiet and steady it still made Arthur jump.

"Everything." Arthur breathed, suddenly finding it hard to meet the old man's gaze.

"Everything?"

The youth pulled at the fringed edge of a blanket. Whenever Arthur found himself in an awkward situation he would unconsciously start fiddling with whatever was around, a nervous habit he picked up from his mother.

Looking back, whenever Hunith was explaining why Arthur had blond hair or why he didn't have magic she would begin to sew or cook or do _something_ to occupy her hands. At the time the bond had thought nothing of it but now it made so much sense.

"Everything. About Nimueh, about my real… my real parents." The last word came out as barely a whisper. They felt so wrong.

Gaius just nodded thoughtfully.

"So it's true then I'm- I'm really… a prince?" Arthur asked sadly.

"I'm afraid so my boy." The physician reached out and gripped Arthur's hand. The blond surprised to find that the old man didn't seem to be happy about the fact that he was a prince. In fact, Arthur got the opposite feeling. Gaius was looking at him with something that could only be described as pity.

A low groan from the other bed brought Arthur out of his thoughts.

"Merlin!" The blond hissed as he tried to push back his mountain of blankets but was instantly caught by Gaius.

"Stay here, I'll look after him." Arthur wanted to protest but the mere act of struggling to get up had sent an overwhelming wave of exhaustion over the youth.

Gaius stood up from the stool he had been sitting on next to Arthur's bed and walked wearily over to where Merlin was beginning to stir, grabbing a vial of something off a table when he passed.

"Merlin?" The old man called out gently.

At first there was no response and Arthur's heart sank when he thought that his brother had gone back to sleep. But then the blankets shifted slightly and there was a hiss of pain.

"Oh- Ow… what the..?" Merlin's voice was gravely and laced with sleep and confusion. "Arthur?"

"I'm here Merlin. You're okay now." Arthur wanted to go to his brother but he realized that getting up would probably just end with him crumpled on the floor, so he decided to settle for trying to calm the younger boy from afar.

"Arthur I don't understand… who're you?" Gaius had sat down on the edge of Merlin's bed and was busy checking the boy over. Even though he was far away Arthur could tell that his brother's eyes were glassy and that the fever still burned within him.

"Merlin calm down, Arthur's here with you too, you're safe." Gaius said soothingly.

"No I… but we were… and there was someone else- they attacked us… Where are mother and father?" Merlin was starting to get frantic, trying to push himself up, trying to get away from the kindly physician, tears streaming down his fevered face.

A pain shot through Arthur's heart at the sight of his brother. He didn't know what to say- the words seemed to be stuck in his throat. What could he possibly say the Merlin? That he had willingly left their parents in the forest with a crazed sorcerer bearing down on them? That he had _ran away_? Because even though Arthur had tried to justify his actions- saying that he did it for Merlin's sake- it wasn't true.

Deep down, the blond knew why he ran. He ran because he was afraid. Not for Merlin, but for himself.

_Coward._

"Merlin! Merlin you need to breathe, my boy, breathe!" Gaius was speaking to the raven-haired boy in a hushed, yet urgent voice.

Arthur couldn't stand this any longer. Ignoring the horrible soreness in his limps, the blond pushed away his blankets and swung his shaky legs over the edge of the bed.

Actually standing was definitely the most challenging thing that Arthur had ever done. His body seemed to disagree with his decision to get up and was fighting the boy all the way on this one. Once he finally got his arms to cooperate and push him up from the bed, his legs decided to give out and the process had to be repeated all over again.

It didn't help, of course, that the now frustrated physician was yelling at Arthur to get back into bed and for Merlin to calm down. By the time that the blond actually made it over to his brother's bedside the noise had attracted three guards and the curly-haired knight from before.

"Arth-ur!" Merlin croaked when the older boy came into view.

The raven-haired boy did clearly not understand what was going on around him. His sky-blue eyes were bloodshot and glassy, tears streamed down his face openly. Arthur's stomach did a horrible flip when he saw the state of his younger brother.

"Shhh… Merlin calm down. It's okay…" Arthur reached out a shaky hand and started stroking the mess of damp raven hair soothingly, unsure of what to do.

Even though it was a small gesture, Merlin responded instantly to his brother's touch, blue eyes zooming in on the blond's face. Before Arthur realized what was happening the younger boy relaxed and closed his eyes, sinking back down into the coarse pillows beneath him.

Arthur let out a shaky laugh. He wasn't actually happy or even relieved. It was just so ridiculous that for all of Merlin's struggling had been stopped by a simple touch from the older boy.

The blond put his head down on Merlin's chest and closed his eyes. Now that the adrenaline was gone, Arthur was beginning to feel very… sleepy. Not sleepy, completely and utterly exhausted actually.

Ignoring the stunned guards, knight and physician, Arthur closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh, falling into peaceful darkness with the steady rise and fall of his brother's chest beneath him.


	11. Merlin is Lucid

**D8 I'm so sorry for the wait! A storm knocked out my internet all of yesterday and then I went to grad party and forgot to write the new chapter! I'm really sorry if this one is rubbish because I didn't really proofread it or beta it or anything... plus it's short. I'll make up for it tomorrow -sigh-**

_Merlin…_

A voice rang through the sleeping boy's head. He was floating in darkness, not entirely asleep but not awake.

_Merlin…_

The boy tried to open his eyes to see who was calling for him but they remained stubbornly shut. Merlin frowned, or made his best mental effort to considering that he didn't seem to have control over his body. The voice was definitely male but it didn't sound like Arthur or his father.

_Merlin._

Blue eyes snapped open and looked around wildly until they locked onto a familiar face.

"Arthur!" Merlin breathed, though his voice sounded… different. Low and gravely, like he'd been sick or something. The young warlock tried to sit up but found that a pair of strong hands was keeping him down.

"Is he lucid this time?" An older voice called from not far away.

Merlin could see Arthur pursing his lips as he stared down at him. There was a long pause.

"I'm not sure." Arthur answered at last. Merlin scrunched his brow in confusion. Wait- were they talking about _him_?

An aged face appeared over his worried brother's and looked down at him with a slightly quizzical, concerned glance.

"Can you tell us your name?" The old man asked gently.

Merlin didn't respond for a moment. Too many things were going through his mind at once- mainly how he got from the forest to… wherever this was.

"Merlin- where am I?" The young warlock asked quickly before Arthur or the old man could ask anymore pointless questions.

The elder's head withdrew from Merlin's line of sight for a moment before something cold was pressed to his lips by an invisible hand. The raven-haired boy didn't question what it was or the stern "drink" that followed an instant later. He gulped down the liquid, gagging slightly at the horrible taste that accompanied something Merlin managed to identify as medicine.

"Arthur what's going on?" He choked.

The blond didn't answer at first. His gaze left Merlin to look up at someone close by with a pained expression.

Merlin frowned in annoyance. His methods of getting information were proving less than satisfactory.

"Arthur," Merlin struggled against the hands that were holding him down. "I'm Merlin- I'm awake. I know who you are and who I am, but I don't know what's going on so will you please stop pushing me and explain?"

His voice came out a little harsher than the warlock had anticipated and Arthur winced at his tone. There was something about the blond that was… off. He was looking at Merlin but he wouldn't meet his gaze for some reason. The raven-haired boy let out a sigh of relief when the pressure on his chest was let released and, with a little bit of moaning because he was still sore, he could finally sit up.

The first thing that Merlin noticed when he eventually made it to a somewhat vertical position was the warm green eyes of a curly-haired man watching him from across the room.

"Er… hullo." Merlin said meekly, unsure of why the man was there and certainly unsure of why the man seemed to be _watching_ him.

"I've been worried about you so I came to check and see how you were doing." The man said plainly. Merlin frowned. Why had Mr. Curly Hair been worried about him? More questions.

"Em…" The raven-haired boy was about to demand more answers when a strange tickle in his throat made him stop. Thinking nothing of it, Merlin cleared his throat and continued on.

"Sorry?" Sorry seemed appropriate. After all, Merlin didn't actually know Mr. Curly Hair and he had somehow made the man worry about him.

Mr. Curly Hair just laughed and stood up from the stool that he had been sitting on. Merlin couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at the man. He was tall and held himself with an air of over-all pride and confidence and even through his thick winter tunic the young warlock could see that the man was well-built and strong yet not fat.

"I'm relieved to see that you're better, Merlin. I dare say that you looked like death warmed over a few days ago." Mr. Curly Hair smiled.

Merlin's brow furrowed. He was starting to get the impression that there was something he had missed. Arthur was still watching the young warlock with a look that could only be described as overwhelming worry and the old man from before was eyeing him from across the room, almost as if he was waiting for something to happen.

"Er… thanks. Sorry though. Um Arthur-" Merlin paused again to clear his throat again. The tickle was back with a vengeance. "What exactly happened? Are we in Camelot?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortable in his chair that was pulled up close to Merlin's bed. The blond looked from Mr. Curly Hair to the old man before he spoke. There was something about his demeanor that seemed… strangely guilty. Like the time that he had convinced Merlin to use his magic to fell a tree for firewood and the young (at the time, very, very young) warlock had leveled half of the forest by accident. Then, instead of coming clean, Arthur had let his younger brother take all the blame. Even through all the years his expression looked the same.

"Arth-hur?" The last part of his brother's name came out as a strangled choke when Merlin finally let the tickle in his throat get the best of him and let out a little cough.

A little cough that gave way to the worst coughing fit that the raven-haired boy had ever had in his entire life. At first, Merlin tried to silence his coughing, but found that he had very little control over the matter. He doubled over, hacking until there was no more breath in his body to force out. For a terrifying moment the boy found that he couldn't draw in any air. He just sat there, gasping and frantically trying to breathe in.

Suddenly there was a harsh blow to his back that made Merlin squeak in pain and shock. But then there was air, precious air, entering his lungs with such force that the young warlock thought he might pass out. When he finally looked up, still breathing heavily and tears streaming down his face, Mr. Curly Hair was right next to the bed, hands extended over the ill boy like he wanted to help but wasn't sure what to do.

The old man, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what to do. Merlin guessed that he had been the one to crack him on the back and, even though it was unpleasant, it worked. A second later the strange old man was at the boy's side with a cup of water.

"Drink, my boy. It will help." Merlin took the cup and drank greedily, now realizing just how thirsty he actually was. The cold water stung his throat on the way down and splashed into the boy's empty stomach painfully but he didn't care. It felt like he hadn't had anything to drink in days.

Stifling another cough the raven-haired youth managed to choke out a 'thank you' and another 'sorry' before everything started getting a little bit fuzzy. He was vaguely aware that someone pressed another cup to his lips and ordered him to drink what turned out to be a broth of some description. Merlin only managed to get down half of the liquid before another coughing fit claimed shook his thin frame, leaving the boy gasping.

Mr. Curly Hair excused himself just after the second attack and the old man ordered Merlin to lie down and go to sleep. The boy wanted to fight his instructions. He wanted to know what was going on and he wanted Arthur to tell him what had happened but his body wasn't responding properly.

Instead of an argument coming out of his mouth, a weak cough escaped his lips. Arthur gently pushed the younger boy down into his bed with ease. Merlin frowned at his body's own weakness but couldn't stop his eyes from closing obediently and then sinking down into darkness.


	12. Of Awkward Knights and Sick Merlins

**Oops. It's been a few days hasn't it? :/ sorry about that. Anyway- Chapter!**

Leon gripped his sword and swung half-heartedly at the training dummy before him. The knight was having a difficult time paying attention today; his thoughts were in other places- specifically Gaius's chambers.

Being a knight, Leon was normally able to distance himself from such situations. He had to. He'd sat by other knights when they were on their deathbeds- whether it was from a wound or illness, but he could never let it get to him. Yet, for some reason, he couldn't help but wonder about the condition of the younger boy, the one called Merlin.

Deciding that training was a lost cause, the preoccupied knight slipped away from his brother's in arms without a word and set off for the physician's chambers. Leon didn't really know why he was going to see the boy, after all, he hadn't even spoken to the youth and considering that Merlin had referred to Leon as "Mr. Curly Hair" at one point it was clear the boy didn't even know the knight's name.

But there he was, outside the old wooden door that led to Gaius's chambers. Leon paused before knocking, his knuckles poised over the rough wood. Really, he didn't need to check on the boy. He had been there earlier that very same day and the knight seriously doubted that his condition had improved or changed over the past few hours. Yet, he knocked regardless, albeit lightly.

There was no reply from inside and Leon remembered that Gaius would probably be doing his evening rounds at the moment. He hesitated, then slowly opened the door and entered the chambers as quietly as possible.

Much to Leon's surprise, he found himself caught in the wide-eyed, sky blue gaze of the now conscious Merlin. The boy suddenly put a finger to his mouth in a "shhh" fashion and then pointed to the other bed, which was currently occupied by Arthur.

Leon smiled slightly at the sight of the blond. Over the past few days Arthur had become somewhat of a friend to the normally aloof knight and it relieved him greatly that the boy was finally getting some much-needed sleep.

A light scratching noise made Leon look back to Merlin, who was now holding up a piece of parchment.

_Why can't I talk_

_No thanks _

_Merlin, nice to meet you Gaius_

_Arthur what happened_

_Why_

_No_

_Mother and father_

_Oh_

_No I'm okay_

_Tired_

_Okay_

_Thanks_

_Sorry he just fell asleep and I didn't want to wake him_

Merlin held the parchment up for a moment before setting it back on the heavy book rested on his lap and scribbling something else.

_Hello, my name is Merlin_

Leon glanced over at the sleeping boy at the other end of the room.

"I am Sir Leon. It's nice to finally meet you Merlin." The knight whispered as he silently sat himself down on the stool next to Merlin's bed.

The raven-haired boy smiled and held out his pale hand, which trembled slightly at the exertion. Leon took it regardless, noticing the slight warmth to the boy's skin.

"Are you feeling better then? You looked like death you first arrived."

Merlin hastily scribbled a response.

_Yes, thank you. Sorry I can't talk- throat is sore from coughing._

Leon nodded sympathetically and there was more scratching of the quill on the parchment.

_Thank you for all your help Sir Leon. Gaius told me that you were the one to bring me up when we arrived._

The knight chuckled quietly. "You're very welcome, Merlin. Do you remember anything?" He added thoughtfully. Leon had gotten a little bit of the story from Arthur and Gaius but there were still huge gaps that needed to be filled.

Merlin looked slightly sad for a moment and his blue eyes flashed with a mixture of emotions- sorrow, regret, guilt- making him look suddenly a lot older than he was. No one that young should ever have eyes like that.

_Not much. Mostly just what Arthur has told me_

The raven-haired boy frowned deeply and stared down into his book.

"What book is that?" Leon asked lightly, eager to change the subject to not upset the boy any more than he already had.

Merlin looked up excitedly before scribbling another hasty response.

_Magic! Gaius lent it to me- it's great even though I can't try anything while my voice is gone_

At the mention of magic Leon raised his eyebrows in surprise. If there was one thing that he hadn't expected of the skinny, pale-skinned boy before him, it was for him to be a sorcerer. The look didn't go unnoticed, apparently, because the next second Merlin's blue eyes erupted into molten gold and a strange blue and gold sphere blinked into existence over the open spell book.

"What!" Leon exclaimed loudly. He glanced over at Arthur who was thankfully undisturbed and continued quietly. "How did you do that without casting a spell?"

Merlin's eyes faded back to blue and the orb wavered, then dissipated with the gentle scratch of the quill.

_I don't need a spell for some things. Father says that I'm different than most magic users_

To say that Leon was intrigued would be an understatement. More like utterly fascinated. The knight was no stranger to magic, despite the king's distrust of it, but he'd never met anyone who was able to use it without a spell.

"You should be careful, Merlin." Leon warned suddenly. The young warlock's face fell slightly.

_Why?_

Leon ran a hand through his mess of blond curls (Mr. Curly Hair was fitting title, he supposed). "Though magic is not illegal, it is unwise to use it here in the castle."

Merlin still looked confused.

The knight sighed. "The king is not a... fan of magic users. He allows it, but doesn't necessarily like it or trust those who wield it." Leon stopped himself from saying more. He was a knight of Camelot and therefor couldn't speak out against his king- even if he didn't agree with Uther's views.

_Oh_

The raven-haired wrote slowly, dejection slowly overtaking his previous happiness. Leon silently cursed himself. For some reason all of his efforts to cheer the boy up only seemed to make things worse. Fortunately, Merlin chose that moment to stifle a cough, rubbing his sore neck as he did so.

"Are you alright?" Leon whispered intently. Though he felt bad that Merlin was in pain, Leon was silently grateful for the change in their conversation.

"Wa-er." Merlin croaked. His voice was harsh and low- just barely there. Leon flinched at the pained noises that followed his attempts to speak. The knight searched around desperately for the water bucket and let out an audible sigh of relief when he spotted it sitting on the table near them.

Once Merlin had taken a few painful swallows of the liquid that Leon brought him he calmed down once more but still massaged his neck in an effort to alleviate his sore throat. That's when for the first time, the knight noticed the bright red neckerchief that the boy was wearing. He vaguely recalled Arthur wearing a matching blue piece.

"I admire your choice in neckwear." The knight nodded and pulled his red cape forward to show that the two colors matched almost perfectly. Merlin gave a small smile but it looked sad and forced.

_Thank you. My mother made it for me._

There was a pause in their conversation. Leon was beginning to feel slightly awkward. He was just about to excuse himself when the door opened and Gaius entered the room, looking weary.

The old physician opened his mouth to greet the two but stopped when both the knight and Merlin put their fingers to their mouths as a sign to be quiet. Gaius glanced over at Arthur's sleeping form and nodded knowingly.

"Sire." He whispered to Sir Leon, who nodded back politely. Though Gaius was not a knight or a lord and was technically ranked below Leon, the knight always treated the physician with a mutual respect.

"Merlin- you're not talking, are you?" Gaius's uneven eyes narrowed, coupling with his permanently raised eyebrow to form a very critical look.

_No, I swear_

Gaius eyed the raven-haired boy suspiciously but seemed to relax slightly when he saw the long line of crossed out writings from Merlin's "conversation" with Leon. The knight shifted uncomfortably.

"I need to be off. Get well soon, Merlin." He nodded to the boy who scribbled something down quickly in response.

_Thank you_

Leon smiled at the simple statement and excused himself from the room, patting Gaius's worn shoulder as he left. The knight cast one last look over the raven-haired boy who was still watching him quietly before he left. Merlin, it seemed, was full of surprises.

Merlin had enjoyed his visit from the knight but it left him feeling completely drained. The sleepy youth hoped that he could escape drinking another one of Gaius's horrible potions by falling asleep quickly but he was no match for the old physician.

By the time that the young warlock was permitted to sleep, he had a horrible taste in his mouth and his throat burned horribly from the awful substance that he had just been forced to drink. But, despite everything, Merlin was out as soon as his head hit the pillow- pulled into a deep, dreamless sleep with the aide of Gaius's potion.

_Merlin…_

The strange voice echoed in Merlin's mind once more, bringing him up from the depths of unconsciousness.

_Who are you?_ He thought desperately.

_Merlin…_

_What do you want?_ The boy pleaded silently.

_Young warlock._

Merlin awoke with a strangled gasp as the sudden intake of air made his throat burn. He blinked blearily and listened for the voice, but it was gone.

"Merlin?" Arthur's face came into his line of sight and the raven-haired boy couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. Before he had finally gotten some sleep, the blond had looked absolutely terrible and Merlin had been worried that his brother would collapse from exhaustion or something. But now he looked almost normal- his sapphire eyes were still haunted and sad but the unnatural pallor had gone from his tanned skin and the bark bruised that had formed under his eyes were all but gone.

"Here sit up." The older boy said in a commanding voice as he helped Merlin up into a sitting position. "Gaius told me to make you drink this when you woke up. He said that it'd help your throat."

Arthur held up a small vial of a dark green liquid for his brother to see and Merlin could help but let out a displeased hum. The blond rolled his eyes unsympathetically.

"Oh don't be such a girl Merlin. Just drink it." Merlin shot the older boy an annoyed glare before taking the vial and knocking back the liquid in one go.

After the gagging stopped the raven-haired youth looked around for his parchment frantically and felt his heart fall when he spotted it on the table and decisively out of his reach.

'Water' he mouthed silently, stormy blue eyes pleading with his brother to understand. Arthur's brow furrowed in confusion, prompting an eye roll from Merlin.

It was that precise moment that Merlin remembered that he had legs and was not an invalid. He nearly smacked himself in the head for basically forgetting the fact that he could move on his own, despite the fact that he was painfully slow and ached all over.

"What do you think you are doing you _idiot_?" Arthur bellowed when he saw that his brother was trying to get out of bed.

Merlin just rolled his eyes again and pushed himself slowly up into a standing position. After spending the last few days in bed his muscles felt weak and stiff but he managed to clamor over to the table without falling only to find that the water bucket was disappointingly empty. The raven-haired boy let out a low hum of annoyance.

Merlin clicked his tongue and moved to grab the bucket but Arthur took it before he could.

"I'll get the water. After all, we wouldn't want you fainting all over the castle like a girl, would we?" The blond sighed with fake exasperation. Merlin just stuck out his tongue silently and grabbed his book, parchment and paper from the table before returning to his bed.

_Thank you_

**Okay next chapter the royals make their entrance so stay tuned! By the way- I seriously love Leon and I love his relationship to Merlin and I will never give that up so he'll probably be a main character in this story :)**


	13. Author's Note

Wow... Guys... I'm so sorry! My life went sort of topsy-turvy for a while... Basically I'm moved down to college now! YAAAAY! I'm a freshman at The Columbus College of Art and Design :)

I hope to post something again pretty soon. Again, I'm really sorry... I hate reading unfinished works and I hate leaving things unfinished.


End file.
